


Asylum

by Sivvus



Series: The Rest is Silence [1]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, The Immortals - Tamora Pierce, The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe, Castles, Civil War, Consensual Possession, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Galla, Insanity, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Magic, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Murder, Muteness, Prison, Seduction, Sexual Content, Slavery, Spy - Freeform, Tortall, Wits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 20:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 69
Words: 212,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1996536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sivvus/pseuds/Sivvus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galla holds a secret fort where the dangerous and powerful are held captive. Daine has been imprisoned for six years, since the ravage of Snowsdale. The newest prisoner, the notoriously insane Hawk Mage, has been caught after years of roaming the mountains. Daine is ordered to keep the dying man alive, but his determination to escape might well destroy them both. D/N, mature content, COMPLETE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, I hear it’s something you can, uh, relate to. Going mad, running off with the animals... forgetting what shape you’re supposed to be...” the man's eyes wandered over her shivering body. Daine hugged herself and looked down. Glaring would be punished, but she let the word 'hate' spin decadently through her private thoughts. They couldn’t take those from her. He was still talking. “You’ll nurse him back to health, back to human, and you won’t rest until he’s well.”
> 
> “If he dies, you die.”

There was a strange peace that usually hung around the castle. Daine didn’t like it much; to her, it was the same kind of silence that happened when someone forced your head under water: the kind of silence that made it hard to breathe, to think, to live. Still, after six years living in the Gallan keep you’d think she’d be used to it. Two years as a prisoner, fair starved in the dank cells as they watched her, beat her, punished her for her crimes. Then there was another year when her every move was watched with careful eyes as they punished her for her madness. And for all those years there was the silence, always silence, both in her loneliness and inside her head. After three years it was a habit. She hardly spoke, and wasn’t allowed to listen to the voices, and after three years most people barely remembered she could speak at all.

Still, she hated it. They knew she had some skill with animals, although they watched her more intently than ever when she began working in the farms and stables. They started bringing animals to her, and for the next three years her silent life began to have meaning. She looked after the animals with a gentleness she didn’t feel for the humans who kept her caged, and tried not to think of Cloud, or the wolf pack. She tried to blend in, but of course she couldn’t: an eighteen year old girl, wrists always wrapped in spelled silver chains, surrounded by guards and soldiers. A prisoner... no, she knew what she was. A slave. They called her that, and other words too. The bastard. The invisible waste of life, who nursed valuable warhorses back to health and never spoke. She barely heard the words any more. They didn’t hurt. She made her face blank and stupid, and blocked out their words with less difficulty than silencing the voices inside her head.

So why was today so different? The silence seemed to be _waiting_. It was as if this quietness wasn’t drowning, but holding its breath. Daine shook her head to clear it of such silliness, and went about her work. She was picking stones from a pony’s hoof before she remembered why today felt different. Today they were bringing a new person here. A new prisoner. Daine started and cut her palm on the hoof knife, hissing between her teeth at the deep gouge. They wouldn’t care that she was hurt, but if they knew how sharp the knife was they might not let her have it again. They already snatched it from her as soon as she was finished with it.

As she licked away the blood that seeped from her hand she let her thoughts wander. She had heard about this new prisoner, in whispers that the servants didn’t think she could hear. She had heard that he was quite mad. He was almost a goblin, a story that was muttered to children to scare them into being good. For years he had haunted the mountain passes. Daine did not think that all the stories she had heard could be true, but she had listened anyway. He was a mage, a powerful man who had lost his mind. Drugged, some said, or cursed. One thing that they agreed on was that he could turn into a bird. The kitchen women insisted that he screamed like a banshee and fought off creatures in the night, whether they were dangerous immortals or helpless travellers who happened to cross the road when his mania hit. They knew him as the Hawk Mage, but they also called him _murderer, demon_ and _cursed_. Sometimes there would be no stories for months, and then he would strike again. A nest of spidren would erupt into black flames, and all that was left of them was a pile of charred, twisted corpses by the time the soldiers got there. A village would sink into the ground as if it were quicksand. Rocks would roll uphill, crushing anything in their path.

If he wasn’t so powerful, they would have caught him years ago. If he wasn’t so clever he’d have been outwitted, but he was as good at hiding and escaping as he was at destroying things. They said he was tall. They said he was short. They said his eyes glowed red, and he drank the blood of lambs and infants. They said many things. But what was certain was that he had been caught, finally. Even Daine had been happy at that news, as much as she hated this country. It was as if someone had told the frozen nights they could no longer send biting draughts through the unglazed slits that passed for a window in her cell. A small, impossible relief that made the world seem less dismal.

It wasn’t the stories that made the blood in Daine’s veins run cold, or made her ignore the hot pulse of blood as it stained the stable floor. She had no patience for such stories. It was the fact that they had caught him and, against all odds, decided to bring him _here_. This place was meant to be secret, because if another country found out about Galla’s secret fort, they would surely attack. This place was meant to be secure, because the soldiers never even spoke to their captives. And this place was supposed to be avoided, because if you were brought here, it meant only one thing: you were very, very dangerous.

888

She was sleeping, her thin frame twisted at the nightmares of Snowsdale which always haunted her, when the clattering sound of keys unlocking her door woke her up. She shrieked, half-expecting a bandit to leap towards her, but it was one of the muscled, humourless soldiers who they mockingly called servants who was striding into her room. The girl tensed, instinctively wrapping her arms around her knees to protect herself - as if that had ever helped - but the man didn’t move towards her. He scowled and picked up her clothes from the tiny shelf and threw them at her, his breath steaming in the freezing night air.

“Get dressed. They want you.” He ordered. Daine blinked the last of the sleep from her eyes and obeyed, not bothering to ask him _who_ wanted her. You were beaten for asking questions. She didn’t waste her breath asking the man to look away as she dressed, either. None of them ever did.

Shivering in the cold air and wishing for the hundredth time that she had a fire, she forced her frozen feet to the floor and tried to remember what shoes felt like. They didn’t let you have shoes. Anything that would make it easier for you to run away was forbidden. Her toes were broken from clumsy horses hooves and nearly blue from the winter cold, but the worst thing was always the shock of cold when she had to stand up from the tiny patch of warmth that was her bed. The guard shoved her in front of him and she stumbled, still not secure on her frozen toes, and he yanked her upright by her hair with a curse. She desperately found her balance, biting her lip to stop herself from making a sound, and they left the room.

The chamber which the guard took her to was warmer, at least, and larger than her tiny cell. Rotten rushes softened the floor and she wriggled her frozen toes against them, drinking in the rare comfort before she even thought to look around. She heard the voice, though, an imperious note which held a sneer.

“This is the one?” He said. Daine didn’t look up from the rushes, watching a beetle run across one of her toes. A rough hand shoved her between her shoulders, making her stumble towards the speaker. When she finally looked up there was no-one there. Well, there was a bed- the same kind of rough wooden pallet which she slept on. But it was empty. She blinked in confusion, wondering if perhaps she was to change rooms. It was unlikely. It was more likely that this was the sneering man’s room, another prisoner, sure, but one with more to barter.

Some of the prisoners were more respected – more amenable, or they had friends on the outside, who could call in favours. Favours like the company of another prisoner, for example. Daine took a shuddering breath and shut her eyes, telling her mind to fly far away from this place. But nothing happened. No-one touched her, and after a moment she opened her eyes and let the room swim back into focus.

A bird roosted on the rough wool blanket, head buried under one wing. Daine bit her lip, ordering her mind not to let the voices in. They were always so much worse when she was near animals, terrifying in their friendliness. She looked around enquiringly. The speaker- the one with the sneer- was watching her. She forced her expression to be blank, stupid, but asked the question with her eyes. The sneering man obliged her with an answer.

“It’s not a bird, it’s a mage.” He said, as if he was pointing out the obvious. Daine blinked and looked rapidly back at the hawk. It was black, too large to be a real bird, and its breath was too rapid and shallow to be healthy. Is that... she though, aghast, but the man was talking again.

“He’s sick. It’s how we caught him. We brought him back here, he woke up, he shapeshifted. Now he’s your problem.”

Daine gaped and took a step back from the pallet, her eyes pleading. The soldier caught her arms. She could feel new bruises starting on her arms as he squeezed with his fingertips to stop her from moving. The sneering man smiled narrowly.

“Well, I hear it’s something you can, uh, relate to. Going mad, running off with the animals... forgetting what shape you’re supposed to be...” his eyes wandered over her shivering body, and Daine remembered where she’d seen him before - he was the healer. The healer whose face she’d only seen dimly in those first few weeks, laughing mockingly as she fought her way through her mad fevers. He was the one whose eyes sometimes glared in her nightmares. She hugged herself and looked down. Glaring would be punished, but she let the word hate spin decadently through her private thoughts. They couldn’t take those from her. He was still talking. “You’ll nurse him back to health, back to human, and you won’t rest until he’s well.”

She nodded, still staring at the floor. _Don’t let them see you’re afraid. You’re not afraid the voices will come back. You’re not afraid of the Hawk Mage. Don’t show any weakness. Be blank. Be empty._

The stinging shock of a slap stunned her into looking up, hands fluttering to hold her cheek. Her frozen fingertips soothed the already-swelling flesh. The bird shrilled a note and looked up at the sudden noise. Daine’s eyes filled with tears, but the healer was smiling when he said, “If he dies, you die.”

She nodded, kept nodding because she couldn’t sob out her pain, kept nodding until they left the room and the door locked behind them. As soon as the door shut she fell to the floor, clutching her dizzy head, spitting blood from her split lip onto the rushes and weeping. She wept out her fear and her pain until her sobs turned into heaving gasps for air, and it was only then that she realised that the warm, comforting weight on her shoulder, the gentle stroking of tears from her cheek, was from the long, emaciated fingers of a human hand.

 


	2. Chains 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her eyes were accusing as she stared at the bird. _I could kill it._ She thought. _So easily. I could smother it, or drown it. They wouldn’t know it was me. I could say he died from the sickness._

She froze. Even her mind refused to make a sound for a long time, although she couldn’t stop her heart from pounding in her chest. _I am locked in a room, alone, with the Hawk Mage._ She couldn’t stop the idea from spinning in her head. At any moment she expected those skeletal fingers to dig claws into her skin, to peel the flesh from her cheeks. They moved away from her face, and she could see the fingers choking the life from her throat as vividly as if it were actually happening. The hand was cold, too cold to be human. She really believed it could be a demon. She shut her eyes as the fingertips trailed down her neck, all too aware of the vulnerable veins the razor-sharp demon claws were a heartbeat’s distance from. She froze, and the hand disappeared. There was no more weight on her shoulder, no alien touch. It took her a long moment to will herself to look around, but when she did there was only the bird, asleep, or at least hiding, under its wing. 

She reached out to touch it, as she would any animal, and then drew her hand back. No, it wasn’t really a bird. And she was fair certain it wasn’t really asleep, either. She looked at it instead, seeing again the too-rapid breathing and the way its feathers were puffed up against the cold. Its feathers were dull and dusty, as if it were old rather than sick, and even though it was too big to be a normal bird, it was also starving-scrawny. She bit her lip and wondered what on earth she was supposed to do. 

Well, what did she have to work with? She squared her shoulders and stood up, looking around the room. The fire in the tiny grate was struggling to stay alight, but the scuttle beside it only held a few damp pieces of wood. They would smoke and spit, and she would have to be careful if they were to last the night. Beside the scuttle was a barrel of water – one of the waterbutts that gathered rainwater from the courtyard. She dipped her fingers in to taste the sweet, fresh water with a sigh. She was only allowed a little water each day, and that was usually the leavings from boiling potatoes. It was for the same reason they had for everything: a thirsty prisoner was less likely to run away. It was human instinct to stay near water. She cupped her hands and drank the water until she felt sick, her stomach protesting at the unexpected fullness. 

Next to the water was some stale bread, a little cooked meat and some cheese. It was all broken into small pieces already, as they didn’t trust her with a knife. There were rags, and bandages, and a tiny clay bottle which, when she opened it, smelled like cleaning alcohol. There was the threadbare grey tunic which all the prisoners wore, marked with the insignia of the King. And there was a chain. It was gold. 

She stared at the chain, an odd smile quirking at her lips. She finally understood. This was why they’d chosen her. Sure, they might respect her healing skills – even the smallest bit. But they wanted him alive, and they didn’t care if she died to make that happen. Why not lock her in a room with a dangerous, insane killer? She wouldn’t be able to defend herself, so she couldn’t hurt him. Unlike her, he could still use his gift. Until that chain wrapped around his wrist, he would still be able to draw on his fire and burn the stone walls into ashes if he chose. They hadn’t put them on him already, even when he was human shaped.  
She remembered the pain, the agony, when her own chain had first been latched around her arm. It was the healer’s job, the one who sneered. She remembered pleading, crying, using real words and stupidly thinking they might be listened to. _I’m sorry!_ She said that one a lot, and meant it sometimes. _Who are you people?_ That one never had an answer, not even a single person’s name. And _Why are you doing this to me?_ didn’t deserve an answer. She already knew. 

When the door had opened she’d had to shield her eyes against the bright candlelight, after so many months in the dungeon. She’d been raving, angry, furious and yet childish in her rage. They had let her scream until her throat bled, and then she had begun to sleep the dark sleep of the hopeless. They were never going to let her out. The healer’s eyes were gleaming yellow in the flame, and she didn’t even see the chain until he had looped it around the wasted muscles of her arm and snapped it shut. _Then_ she had noticed. The sensation of having her ears suddenly shut up, of being blind and deaf and mute all at once, flooded over her, and she screamed in terror. Then the pain- from her heart, from the core of her, a heat which grew to scalding, tearing pitches and tore through her flesh mercilessly. Her fingertips blistered, her skin dried and cracked, and when she writhed on the cell floor her hair was left behind in singed coils. It was agony, far worse than any beating she’d had before or since, and it seemed to last forever. Forever, a fever of burning torture lit by the yellow light in those sneering eyes...

...she had woken up in the room that was now her own, several weeks later, with no memory of time passing, and with the silence echoing in her head. Her magic was gone. She had reached up to feel the soft strands of new hair, already a few centimetres long against her aching scalp, and the chain had clinked against her ear. It was a thin chain, looped twice around her left wrist and then crossing the back of her hand in two lines. Tiny circlets had been fused around her first and third fingers, and the chain was connected to the rings by artless blobs of solder. The bracelet part of it held a few disks chiming against each other, marked with symbols she didn’t recognise. And that was it: from then on, she was considered harmless. No more was said about it, and her slave-life had begun as soon as she was strong enough to stagger to the kitchens. 

She had worked hard, thinking to redeem herself, and not realising that it made no difference to them. She had even, stupidly, thought they were going to take it off once, when she was fifteen and she saw the healer again. She hadn’t recognised him. He smiled thinly and took the chain in his clammy hands, not saying a word as he inspected each charm. Daine held her breath as he opened a box, wondering if he would take out something to cut the thing from her hand. But he had simply taken out another disk, pressed it to a free link in the chain, and muttered a few words under his breath. The glow of his gift linked the new charm onto the chain, and he waved her away without another word. She stopped to examine it when she’d left the room, and a vague memory of a lifetime ago resurfaced. For the last time, she had let herself cry where other people could see her. It was a pregnancy charm. That was the first time she had really understood how little she really meant to these people. 

She shook the memory away fretfully. After all, her chain was silver. She was a curiosity, if anything. Worthless now she’d been tamed, and treated like it. The Hawk Mage’s chain was gold. He was valuable. But the fire from the chain would kill him if he was already ill. They needed him to be healthy before they could put him in a cage. They wouldn’t risk having anyone important around while he could still use his gift, now, would they?

The thought made her look around, her eyes accusing as she stared at the bird. _I could kill it._ She thought. _So easily. I could smother it, or drown it. They wouldn’t know it was me. I could say he died from the sickness._

As quickly as the thought had risen in her mind she swallowed and chased it away, feeling sick. It was a horrible thing to think, even of a murderer. And whether or not they knew the truth, however he died, they would kill her. 

She stood up and picked up the frayed tunic, carrying it over to the bird and wrapping it up warmly. She didn’t touch it, just the fabric, and even that as little as possible. She put a few scraps of meat onto a rag and set them next to the cocooned creature’s head. She soaked a rag in the barrel and dripped water onto the hawk’s head, ignoring the protesting sound as it was soaked and seeing with relief that it opened its beak and swallowed a little of it. Then she sat back down next to the fire, threw one of the few precious logs onto the embers, and wrapped her arms around her knees to wait. 

It must have been many hours later. She had used up all the wood, and was writing with a piece of charcoal onto one of the rags when the door rattled open, and the soldier strode through it, jangling his keys. He took in the wrapped-up bird with a glance, and laughed at the girl huddled as far away as possible from the mage, next to the fire. 

“That’s right girl, you _should_ be scared of that one.” He drawled. He hooked his hands into his belt, taking his time before he spoke. For all his bluster, he wasn’t as bad as a lot of the other guards. If you didn’t say anything back- and, obviously, Daine never did- then he ran out of steam quite quickly and just got on with his job. Today that seemed to include fetching Daine down to the kitchens to heave a full basket of the same damp wood into the Hawk Mage’s room. As soon as she was out of the room and the door locked behind them, Daine took a deep breath and felt herself start shaking. The soldier looked at her with something close to sympathy, but didn’t say a word as he escorted her down the stairs. 

“Is there anything needed?” He asked gruffly, gesturing around the room with awkward hands. Daine nodded and handed him the scrap of cloth she’d been writing on. She’d thought they might ask, and had spent a long time thinking of things she might need. She didn’t dare ask for something to defend herself with, though. The guard read through the list slowly, lips pursed, and shook his head at a few things. 

“I’ll have to get this checked,” he said, “Approved, like. But I’m sure some soup wouldn’t be missed. Birds don’t chew, do they?”  
Daine shook her head, surprised enough by the question to actually make eye-contact with the man. For a brief second she saw a flash of another person inside his eyes. She looked away. She couldn’t think of the guards as people. It made her life seem so much more wretched. Still, she was surprised and grateful when the guard brought her a cup of the thin broth that always simmered on the stove and told her to sit down and drink it while he found some of the other things on the list. It was the first hot food she’d had in weeks, and she could feel the warmth spreading through her body deliciously after the cold night.  
The guard returned and handed her a bulging bag without a word. She took it, confused- she hadn’t asked for this much, she wouldn’t have dared! He didn’t give her a chance to open the bag, or any explanation, but picked up the basket of wood and carried it back to the tower room for her without another word. She felt the cold of the tower and her fear of the room making her shake again, but the guard’s compassion seemed to have faded with every step he took. When she hesitated in the doorway he shoved her through, and threw the basket after her so that the wood scattered among the rushes. 

“Same time tomorrow.” He said curtly, “And if he’s no better you’ll be whipped.” 

She stayed huddled where she had fallen on the floor until the door clicked shut, and then sighed and started picking up the wood. It was best to keep busy, at least until she could stop herself shaking. She filled the basket, and then used a flat piece of wood to sweep the mouldy reeds into one corner. If the mage was hurt- and the bandages told her that he probably was- then the reeds would welcome infections into the room. She could sleep on the soft rushes, now they were piled up. She dampened another rag and cleaned the exposed stone floor, scrubbing it with a vengeance. When the floor was clean the rag was worn into holes, and she threw it into the fire to hiss and curl into flames. 

She looked up at the bird from time to time, but it seemed no different. It hadn’t opened its eyes, or tried to escape from the tunic she’d wrapped it in. The food was untouched, and she frowned. If it wouldn’t eat then it would die, as sure as sugar. She unpacked the bag the guard had given her, finding the canister of soup nestled at the top with a small wooden spoon. It was made of such flimsy wood that it could never be a weapon, but it was perfect for spooning the still-warm liquid into the bird’s protesting beak. She found if she thought about it as an animal then it was easier, since she could never be afraid of a simple hawk. It had shown no sign of wanting to become human again since the night before. When she released it the bird gurgled down its last beakful of food, swallowed, and fell asleep. 

Daine took the time to open the bag. She gasped, almost smiling for a moment as she realised why it was so heavy. The guard had found a thick blanket, the kind lined with fleece and braided wool, and stuffed it into the bag for her. She’d asked for a blanket, but she’d never _dreamed_ it would be something this fine. Oh, she knew it was meant for the mage, but still she couldn’t resist wrapping it around herself, feeling almost warm for the first time in months. She lay near the fire, almost ashamed of how comfortable she felt, and tucked her frozen feet into the rich folds of soft fabric. 

The fire spluttered and one of the new logs burst into flame, but she didn’t think to bank the flue. She was already asleep.


	3. Chains 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had such casual words to talk about his own death, but Daine barely heard them. He wasn’t making any sense. Was he saying that he was trying to save her life? The Hawk Mage wouldn’t care if a stranger lived or died. 
> 
> This "Numair", might, though.

“Do you have any water, please?” 

Her eyes flew open at the croaking words, and she sat bolt upright in a second. The room was growing dark- she must have slept through the whole day – and the fire was back in embers beside her. The thick blanket fell from her shoulders when she moved, and she shoved it away in a flustered panic. 

The bird was gone! She could barely see the man in the darkness, but it was certainly a human’s silhouette that filled the narrow bed. She threw another piece of wood on the fire to hide her sleep-hazed confusion, and the mage repeated his question. His voice was so coarse that it made her own throat ache in sympathy. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up, miss, but I really am very thirsty. Do you?” 

She stood up and fled to the water barrel, flinching when her feet ached at the sudden movement. She stared down into the dark water, seeing her own terrified eyes staring back at her. She looked around for a mug, but of course they hadn’t thought to give her one. She hadn’t thought to ask, either. The only container she had was half full of soup, and she was terrified to waste it. Mindlessly she plunged her hands into the barrel, the cold water shocking her into wakefulness, and carried the water over to him. Then she stopped short as the wood on the fire finally blazed, and she saw the man for the first time.

_What am I doing?_

She hadn’t taken in his appearance at all. Her eyes refused to take in details- they just showed her a man who she was terrified of, who was so tall his bare feet hung over the edge of the bed. Her eyes reminded her that he was easily big enough to overpower her, even as sick as he was. She froze, arms falling to her sides, and she was dimly aware of the water dripping from her palms as she clenched her hands into fists. 

_You’re not a coward, Daine._ She thought. _Stop it. He has to drink, or he’ll die of thirst._

She blinked, dashing away her paralysed terror, and saw that he had very dark eyes. His skin was pale and he was so thin that it was pulled tightly over his bones, making those eyes look bigger and more beseeching as they looked at her. To her surprise he didn’t shout at her for dropping the water, or even mention it, but looked back at her with level curiosity. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” He said, his voice nearly a whisper now. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

 _People will say anything when they’re desperate,_ Daine retorted in her mind, but kept her expression blank. Even she knew that she was wrong to think so. The man was being worryingly sincere. She turned on her heel and dipped up another handful of water, and this time she brought it to him. He smiled and drank, his stubble scratchy against her hands as she tipped her makeshift pitcher up. When she turned to get more he shook his head, eyes sleepy. 

“Thank you, but too much at once... will make me ill.” He said. She stared at him incredulously, and couldn’t help looking down at his emaciated arms, torso, his bone-white skin. To her surprise he laughed, a hacking sound barely recognisable as anything happy. “Yes, you’re right. Can’t get much worse, can I?” 

She dipped up a second handful of water and he drank obediently, trembling hands raised as if her own hands really were a cup that he had to support. She thought about shaking him off, but she was curious to see what he would do next. She pressed one damp hand against his forehead and was surprised the water didn’t instantly turn to steam. There was some willow bark in the bag though, so she could treat a fever. She was thinking seriously about how to go about it when one of his hands closed around hers. She jumped and yanked her hand back. When she was safely back by the fireplace, panting in sudden fear, she turned and glared at him. 

“I’m so sorry, little one.” He said, eyes gentle as he drifted into sleep, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

She bit back a sob and stared at the fire, telling herself the smoke was making her eyes fill with tears. She looked up again, and the overlarge black bird was sleeping with its head tucked neatly under one wing. 

888

The next time the bird woke up she had finished making the medicine. Well, perhaps that was too charitable a word for it. She had shredded some of the bark as best she could with her fingernails into the soup canister, topped it up with water, and had left it in the embers of the fire to boil. After an hour or so she had decided to add the meat to the mixture, turning it into a kind of stew. 

_He’s far too thin._ She thought, _He needs food more than anything._

She ate the stale bread and some of the cheese, although she wasn’t really hungry, and then took up her place by the fire, hands wrapped around knees, and watched him. She could tell when he woke up; he shivered and moved the wing as if it ached, and then looked out from under the feathers with a curious black eye. She used a rag to get the canister out of the fire and tried to remember where she’d left the spoon. Then she sat on the floor next to the low pallet bed, canister and spoon ready, and waited. 

The sound was more like a sigh than the magical sound she’d imagined, but then she realised it had to be something quiet, or else she’d have noticed him doing it before. He looked a little better than he had a few hours before- the water and sleep must have done some good- but he shook from the effort of shapeshifting, and his forehead was dewed with fever-sweat. He smiled a greeting, looking more awake this time, and rolled awkwardly onto his side so he could see her. The movement made him shudder, and Daine remembered that he must be badly hurt. 

Well, that would be next. She stood up to get the bandages and cleaning alcohol and sat down next to him with them, letting him see them so he’d understand what she meant to do. He closed his eyes for a moment. 

“I... you need me to stay human?” 

She nodded. As soon as he shape shifted the bandages would fall away. And besides, the wounds were probably getting torn by all this silly shrinking and growing. The man bit his lip and looked away for a moment. 

“It’s... difficult. Very difficult. I’m sorry.” 

Daine shrugged, face as blank as she could make it. Gods, but the man was an idiot! She almost wanted to shake him. Any fool could tell you not to use your magic if you were sick! Perhaps he saw some of her scorn in her eyes, because he shut his eyes again and spoke more slowly. 

“I’ll try. I’ll try for you, I promise.” 

The girl picked up the canister and the spoon, offering them to him. _If he can feed himself, I can do his bandages, and then he’ll be asleep again and he won’t keep talking to me like I’m worth being polite to._

He willingly took the spoon, but his hand shook far too much to scoop up the stew, and she didn’t want to risk spilling the precious willow bark. A tiny spoonful at a time, she fed him mouthfuls of the healing broth. 

“What’s your name?” He asked between mouthfuls. Daine ignored him, and he tried again. “My name is Numair. It’s, erm, it’s nice to meet you. Under admittedly dubious circumstances, but still...!” he smiled, a sudden brightness which dimmed as he was met by a blank look. “Don’t you speak?” 

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. She almost felt ashamed of herself for still being afraid of someone who was obviously so stupid! Words got you beaten, or whipped, or shouted at. Worst, words got you noticed by people whose notice had teeth, and fingernails, and torn clothes. No, she didn’t speak. He quietened at that, thoughtful for a few minutes as she fed him the last of the stew and rinsed out the canister, filling it with fresh water and leaving it by his hands. 

“I know,” he said a few moments later, when he heard her intake of breath, “I’m a bit of a mess.” 

Daine looked at him with incredulous eyes, wondering how he could sound so calm. Most of the cuts and scrapes were what you’d expect from a scuffle- nothing deadly, most of them wouldn’t even leave a scar. But, red and swollen against his too-pale skin and running halfway across his stomach, was a livid sword cut. She bit her lip and held a hand above it, feeling the heat of infection radiating from it even from inches away. It looked like he’d been turning just as someone had stabbed at him, taking most of the blow across his ribs but leaving a long, deep slash across his torso. 

She took a step back and ran a hand through her hair. For the first time since she’d been locked in this room, she really thought he was going to die. She caught his eyes, knowing that her horror was written on her face and not caring. 

“I take it you have good news for me?” He asked lightly, and made that same hacking laugh. Even that was enough to start thick drops of dark blood pooling in the base of the gash. Daine desperately pressed her hand over his mouth to stop him laughing, and then scrambled for her bandages. They wouldn’t make a dent. 

He screamed when she poured the alcohol into the wound, his neck twisting in thick cords as he tried to deal with the sudden agony. Daine gritted her teeth and carried on, cleaning out the dried blood and dirt which must have been there for days. She pressed a clean rag heavily over it to stem the new bleeding, and lashed it down tightly with the bandage. It was like throwing a pebble into the ocean to stop the tide, and they both knew it. 

When she’d finished she fetched the wonderful blanket and pulled it over him, hoping the extra heat would help his fever to break. That, at least, she had a hope of curing. He let her, laying in silence with his shaking hands over his eyes as he tried to ride out the pain. Daine sat back down next to the head of the bed and dampened her last clean rag in the rainwater, then handed it to him. He pressed the cool fabric to his forehead. 

“Thank...you...” he gasped, after a few minutes. Daine looked up in disbelief. No-one would thank another person for putting them through that agony! And yet, he was. He was looking at her gratefully with black eyes that were still swollen with tears. She looked away, embarrassed to be a cause of his suffering. She didn’t think anyone would want a stranger to see them like that, so weak and helpless. 

“Were they serious?” The man – Numair, she reminded herself- asked after a few minutes. His voice still shook, was still weak, but a lot of the croakiness had gone, and it almost sounded like a human was speaking. Daine didn’t have a clue what he meant, though, and looked up enquiringly. He made a feeble gesture with one hand. “The men who were in here, before. Were they being truthful when they said that if I died...” His voice tailed off. Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, but Daine reminded herself that he was a murderer, and insane, and was probably just too weak to speak. She nodded in answer to his question, and his eyes opened wide. 

_“Why?”_

She gaped at him, and had to press her hands to her mouth to hide what was almost a mocking smile. People didn’t like it if they thought you were laughing at them. She didn’t answer, not even a shrug, and he sighed. 

“I thought they might be. I’m... not sure if I can help you. I’m so sorry, little one.” She didn’t look around, and he persisted. “I wanted to die, you see. It’s why I stayed as a bird. But when they said... well, I thought it best to live. I’m trying to remember how to fight back, but maybe it’s too late.” He had such casual words to talk about his own death, but Daine barely heard them. He wasn’t making any sense. Was he saying that he was trying to save her life? 

Had the healer known he would do that? Perhaps that was why they’d made their threat in front of the bird. It would explain why the guard had threatened to whip her right after being so unusually kind. But... she frowned. _But if they thought he would want to save a stranger’s life, they can’t possibly have thought he was the monster I’ve heard stories about. The Hawk Mage wouldn’t care if a stranger died._

 _This... this “Numair” might, though._ Said a small voice in the corner of her mind. 

She was very confused. 

His eyes were fluttering shut, exhausted now the willow bark had started to work and the pain was subsiding. She looked up into his eyes, looking directly at him for the first time and wondering who this stranger really was. 

He touched the bruise on her face with his frozen fingers. “I’m so very sorry they did this to you. It’s not right.” He murmured. The hand dropped as he fell asleep, falling on her shoulder. She rested her swollen cheek against it, her thoughts a confused whirl, and wondered if her warm skin was as relieving for him as the cool fingertips were against the bruise. It was an oddly peaceful thought to fall asleep to.


	4. Chains 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s a lunatic, you know.” The official said conversationally, and smirked at her expression. “Oh, I know they’ve got you caring for him. You wild animals, looking out for each other, right? But he’ll turn on you, you mark my words, and you’ll be sorry.”

Daine asked for, and received, a length of fine-spun thread and a sharp needle. The guard hesitated before giving her the needle, but he seemed to know why she needed it, and left in a squeamish hurry. The girl threaded the needle almost as soon as the door slammed shut, then dropped it into the alcohol bottle to make sure it was clean. Among the other things the guard had brought her was more willow bark, and she picked out the biggest piece. 

Numair was asleep, one hand still hanging over the edge of the bed. She hesitated before waking him up, but the last thing she wanted was to think he was passed out, only to then have him move suddenly and hurt himself more. She didn’t like the idea of him being awake for this, though, and impulsively she took hold of his hand and squeezed it. His eyes fluttered open, dimmed by sleep, but his first reaction on seeing her was to smile. 

Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember him ever not looking pleased to see her. It was a strange realisation; something stirred in her stomach at the idea of being wanted even as she wanted to shrink away from the attention. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to smile back. She showed him the needle and thread, and he paled slightly as he understood, but nodded when she handed him the piece of willow bark and bit down on it. 

It seemed to take an age to sew the gash shut, and Daine thought she might hear the man’s anguished cries for the rest of her life. The swollen, infected flesh cracked and bled at the slightest touch, and she had to make several stitches in some places as his skin simply broke away. A few times she had to turn her face away, retching at the sight of it and at his pain, before steeling herself to keep going. She didn’t know how he stayed conscious through it, but finally, finally, it was over and she could cover the tortured flesh with a new bandage. 

Numair slumped back against the bed, breathless in agony. She was about to take his hand again, to help him through this, when he started glowing. Black sparks drifted over his skin, and settled on his fingertips. For a few moments the fingers shuddered into points, fusing into feathered wings, as the mage bit down sharply on the piece of bark and shut his eyes. Shaking with the effort, he forced himself to breathe evenly, deeply, and the sparks began to fade away. His wings turned back into clenched fists. When he was fully human again he breathed out once, suddenly, harshly. 

For a horrible moment Daine thought he had died. She darted forward, willing him to breathe again, and when he did she nearly laughed out loud. She wondered what had happened, though. She’d thought he’d meant to shapeshift all those times, and had told her being human was difficult out of... stupidity, or cowardice. But this... this was different from that. He really looked like he hadn’t had a choice. 

She caught his hand and barely winced when he crushed it in his fingers. That was as unconscious as his transformation had been. Gradually, as the pain lessened, his hand relaxed. Daine might have pulled it away, then, but it didn’t seem needed. His black eyes opened and focused, taking in the silver of the chain which he held along with her hand and gradually frowning in something other than pain. 

“What is this?” He asked. Daine didn’t say anything, but nor did she pull away. She turned her wrist slightly so he could see the string of tiny charms. She didn’t know what they meant, but they said that the Hawk Mage was clever. Perhaps he could work it out. The line between his eyes deepened as he saw the magical signs carved into the metal, and he moved his eyes slowly from one to the other. When he spoke, he still hadn’t let go of her hand, but his thumb gently stroked her wrist. 

“What is this place, little one?” He asked in a quiet voice. “Why have they done this to you?” 

_Why do you care?_ Daine thought, feeling her throat ache with unshed tears. He shouldn’t. He mustn’t. It hurt her too much to think about it. It hurt her too much to receive any kindness, not when she knew the real world waited outside that door. She bit her lip and showed him the solder which bound the chain to her forever. The solder which said, almost shouted, the word ‘slave’. She waited for him to understand that, to drop her worthless hand and demand to be nursed by someone higher than dirt. 

He didn’t. He looked at her with eyes which burned with compassion. He looked like he cared about her, when only minutes before she was close to killing him. He doesn’t understand. She showed him the pregnancy charm, which was still looking slightly newer than the other charms. Let him understand that, at least. If anything, the admission that she was a thing, not a person, made him pity her even more. She wanted to drink that pity up like rainwater, but at the same time a wave of hate rose up inside her. What right did he have to pity her? He didn’t know anything. He didn’t realise that she deserved it. 

“I understand now.” He said, his voice soft and full of sadness for her. “I wouldn’t want to talk, either.”

The hatred boiled inside her, and she yanked her hand away. With petulant anger she grabbed the gold chain from the rickety table and hurled it at him. 

“Then _don’t!_ ” She screamed, and dissolved into hysterical tears. 

888

What could they do except continue as they had been before? Daine emerged from her crying fit cloaked in her silence, and Numair knew better than to try to get her to speak. She wondered at those words. She’d screamed them in anger, but her voice was like a stranger’s even to her ears. It was a voice as harsh as a crow’s, unused and ignored for so long that she’d forgotten it. But while she was crying she’d realised why her own voice had started this flood of sorrow: from her own lips, she had heard her ma’s voice. 

Numair had slipped back into an uneasy sleep, awoken every so often by stabs of pain as his body fought against the thread. Daine boiled more willow bark and fed it to him whenever he woke up, not caring that the liquid was too hot to comfortably drink, or that the canister was burning her hands. She drifted through the afternoon in a mindless haze and tried to remember anything about her ma. Now that she remembered the woman’s voice she realised that she’d blocked out the colour of her hair and the shape of her smile. A few times she caught the mage looking at her quizzically, and chased away whatever nostalgic expression was haunting her face without a word. 

Numair was just stirring for the fifth time when the rattle of keys in the door shocked him into wakefulness. Daine jumped too, not expecting the guard to return until the next morning. But it wasn’t the guard or the healer, but one of the coarser soldiers who guarded the officials – the faceless men who made decisions about this place, and reported back to the king. Daine’s heart sank as she realised why this man was here, and she had to turn away and take a deep breath to stop herself from being sick. 

The man barely looked around the room. “Ah, they said you’d be here. Get a move on.” He said, his voice brash and threatening. Daine stood up straight, then took the canister over to Numair so he could help himself. She slowly turned to leave with the soldier. 

“Wait... wait!” Numair had made an effort to speak loudly enough to be acknowledged, and the guard glared at him. The mage caught Daine’s wrist in his hand, and she blinked at it dully. “Where are you taking her?” 

“You’ll have her back in an hour.” The man drawled. “Maybe.” 

Daine could see the soldier’s hand twitching at the stick at his belt, and inwardly cringed. He was the sort to beat any prisoner for any offence. Numair didn’t even seem to realise he was a prisoner yet – although seeing the gold chain had certainly scared him – and he definitely wouldn’t survive a beating. She looked down at him and made a decision. Taking his hand in both of hers, she squeezed it reassuringly and nodded, smiling as if everything was fine before letting it go. His eyes narrowed. 

“You liar. You never smile.” He whispered, so low the soldier couldn’t hear. She gestured to the bruise which was still livid on her cheek, then pointed at him. While he was working that out, his fever-addled eyes growing more horrified, she pulled away and left. 

The rooms of the officials were always warm. They had carpets, as well, and every time she was taken there Daine forced herself to be happy about that. Half an hour passed where she tried to remember what her ma’s favourite colour was, and it was only dimly afterwards that she realised the man was speaking to her. She sat up, dully pulling her tattered tunic around herself. She sat with her hands looped around her knees and listened in some astonishment. The officials never spoke to her. 

“He’s a lunatic, you know.” This one was saying conversationally, and smirked at her expression. “Oh, I know they’ve got you caring for him. You wild animals, looking out for each other, right? But he’ll turn on you, you mark my words, and you’ll be sorry.” 

Daine swung her legs around to the side of the bed, using it as an excuse not to look at him. Normally she’d have left by now, her mind still a perfect blank. The more he spoke, the more she could feel the gradual reminder of the hurt he’d just done her. The more he spoke, the more she wanted to claw his eyes out. Normally this hit her when she was locked back in her room, and she could sob out her anger in frustrated peace. She clenched her fists and tried to remember what kind of food ma had liked. 

“Tell me what he’s like.” The man ordered. “No-one will believe we actually caught the Hawk Mage if we can’t describe him!”  
Daine stared at him. Even if she’d wanted to speak, she didn’t want to waste her mother’s voice on this slimy creature. And she had no idea how she would describe Numair, apart from, well... dying. 

Caring. The second voice volunteered the only word that made being trapped in this room worse. She swallowed and looked at the floor, losing her grip on her emotionless mask for a brief second. The official leered at her, catching the fleeting moment, and grabbed hold of her chin so she couldn’t look away. 

“Handsome, is he? Is that how it is? Being a good little nurse, are you?” He saw the pain in her eyes, and something close to triumph glowered in his expression. In three years, it was the first time anyone had ever gotten a rise from the stupid, dull-witted wolf girl. He giggled. “I suppose it’s only natural, it’s in your blood. Your mother was a whore, too, wasn’t she?” 

Daine slapped him. Her palm made a ringing sound as the chains cut into his face, and he fell back with a bellow. She didn’t know which of them was more surprised by what she’d done. It only took her a second to drag herself out of her paralysed fear, but it was a second too long. She stood to run, and the guard who had been waiting outside grabbed her around the waist with the point of his knife digging into her ribs. She struggled, desperately trying to break free. 

“Oh no,” the official said, ignoring the thin blood trickling down his face as he advanced on her. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve apologised.”

The girl’s mouth shaped the words I’m sorry desperately, but it was too late. “No, that’s not good enough.” Said the man lazily, drawing the guard’s stick from his belt and hefting it. “Not good enough at all.” 

888

The door burst open and they shoved the girl through. She fell as soon as they let her go, landing heavily against the stone floor with no effort to stop her fall. Vicious feet kicked her legs out of the way of the door, and then it slammed behind them and they were gone, laughing in the echoing corridor. 

Numair had been shocked into wakefulness by the sound, but it was the silence which kept his drug-bewildered mind working. For a long, horrible moment he couldn’t tell if the girl was breathing, and then she took a shuddering breath and pushed herself up on shaking arms. She pulled herself along the floor, agonisingly slowly, until she reached the bed. Then she stopped, exhausted, one hand still reaching out. The man reached down and took it, holding it firmly in both hands. It seemed to be what she wanted; she stopped shaking and lay still, drifting into an uneasy unconsciousness. 

“What did they do to you?” Numair whispered, aghast. The small movement made daggers of white-hot pain shudder through his body, but he managed to lean down enough to kiss her hand. The fingertips curled around his, but she didn’t reply. 

Daine had no idea how much later it was before daylight broke into the soft darkness of her dreamless sleep. It must have been long hours, though, because the fire was a few pitiful embers and it was no longer night. She moved and was slowly aware that the blanket lay across her back. One emaciated hand was still gripping a part of the fabric, as if the mage had fallen asleep with the effort of giving her the heavy fabric. His other hand held hers tightly. When she moved his eyes flashed open, and he gripped her hand more tightly. 

“Don’t move. You’re hurt.” He whispered in a voice cracked by thirst. He clumsily located the canister of willow bark and handed it to her. “Drink.” 

She shook her head, feeling the movement send stabs of pain down her body. _I made that for you, dolt!_ Her mental voice was scathing, realising that the man must have been saving the day’s medicine for her, rather than drinking it himself. 

“Ah, but you can make more medicine,” he said lightly, as if he had read her thoughts. “I wouldn’t have a clue how to even start! So it’s only logical, really.” 

She didn’t answer. He sighed, and for the first time she heard a vein of iron in his voice. “If you don’t drink it, I’ll pour it on the floor.” 

What?! She wrenched her head around, eyes wide, and saw that his expression was completely serious. When she went to grab the canister away from him he held on to it stubbornly, with that same surprising strength that had run through his voice. As if to apologise, he stroked her cheek gently with his other hand, carefully avoiding the bruise. 

“Drink, little one.” He said quietly, supporting her head and bringing the canister to her lips. She looked into his calm, dark eyes and obeyed. 

The mixture was stronger than she’d thought, and the ebbing relief from her pain made her feel sleepy. Or was it... she saw the black glint of his magic weaving lazily through the liquid, and sudden panic made her choke. 

_He’s witching me!_

And then it was too late, too late to fight or throw the cursed potion away, or even vomit it up. She wrenched herself away from him, from demon hands which had seemed to caring a few moments before, and the spell hurled her into oblivion.


	5. Chains 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop your whining, Hawk Mage. She’ll live. You, on the other hand, are fair set to feed the worms. If this twisted protection game you’ve got going has any teeth, you’re going to have to be more selfish and look to your own wounds.”

“Is she dead?”

Numair swam up from the dark oblivion of pain that passed for sleep these days and tried to get his eyes to focus. He could hear perfectly, even though most of what he could hear was his blood pounding in his ears. The voice wasn’t curious at all; it sounded like it simply didn’t care. That made him angry enough to tear his eyes open and fix the man in a glare. 

To his surprise, the healer took a step back and gripped the edge of the doorframe with his stubby fingers. The mage wondered what on earth they thought a dying man could possibly do to them. Then he remembered that the twisted body of the girl was lying on the floor between them, soaked in blood. He looked down at her, and after a moment saw the slight rise of her chest as she breathed. Cold, clear relief flooded through him like water, and his spinning head focused in his anger.

“Heal her.” He said out loud, wishing his broken voice had the same strength he was used to. The other man leaned against the door frame, raising an eyebrow enquiringly. 

“Why should I?” 

“Why should you? Are you really that stupid? That heartless? She’s a person! A human being!” He was furious, but the shouted words came out as a harsh croak. The healer laughed and nudged the girl with his foot. 

“You know, you’re wrong about that.” His voice was almost serious. “She’s not. She’s an animal, a wild creature. They were calling her a werewolf when we caught her – isn’t that a good name? Only an animal would have done what she did. They wanted to slaughter her, to see what her true shape would be when she died. We told them that she was immortal, that she could only be destroyed by silver.” He smirked and looked up, meeting Numair’s eyes as the sick man stared back at him in revulsion. “Well, that much was true enough.” 

“And then you brought her here?” The mage demanded, “To... to this?” 

“We collect rarities.” The healer drawled, losing interest in telling stories. “But she really is an animal. She’s even lost the ability to speak. We’re starting to think someone hexed their pet dog, honestly. Six years, we’ve had her, and she’s just getting worse.” 

“And you... you think that makes what you’re doing to her... somehow acceptable?” Even the nonchalant healer took a step back at the pure fury in the mage’s voice. It crackled in his eyes with black fire, and the air seemed to breathe in around him. The healer clung to the door frame with white knuckles which blistered as the air heated with every accusation. “I don’t think you believe any of that for a second. You know she’s human. You took a little girl, a child, and made up a pathetic excuse to lock her away...”

He looked for a second like he was going to blast the healer with the fire which burned in his eyes, and the flames even licked up his fingertips for a breathless second, blackening the mage’s fingertips as the healer shrieked and ducked behind the stone wall. Then, with a choking gasp, Numair clutched desperately at his own hands as the fingers darkened and lengthened into satiny dark feathers. Forcing his eyes shut, he forced himself to calm down, shuddering, until the feathers shrank back into his skin. The healer watched with some interest, but his voice was cold when he finally spoke. 

“We didn’t have to make up an excuse. Every prisoner we have is here because they deserve it. You might think on what that means for you, Hawk Mage.” He nodded to someone outside the door. 

The guard lugged in a new basket of wood and another hessian bag of food and supplies. Unlike the healer, the man stopped short as he saw the girl, his eyes shocked at the sight of her. The healer scowled and shoved at the man’s shoulder, hurrying him up. For a split second the guard looked like he would obey without question, setting the bag next to the bed and the basket beside the fire. Then, impulsively, he leaned down to pick the girl up and carried her limp body over to the fireplace, where he laid her down carefully, if not too gently. Before he returned to the doorway the man threw another log onto the fire and waited for it to catch. 

“Help her.” Numair heard his voice pleading. He felt his head spinning. He didn’t know if it was his fever returning after using his magic, or his confused thoughts torturing him. The guard looked at the healer, who shook his head.

“I can’t. The chains make it impossible. And I wouldn’t want to, anyway.” He scowled at the guard reprovingly as the man dusted off his hands and left the room. “We only heal people who deserve it.” 

“What’s her name?” The mage whispered, raising his fingertips dizzily to his head. Without the willow bark tea the gash across his stomach had started throbbing hotly, sending nausea and pain into every cell of his body. The healer’s face spun in front of him, eyes blank. 

“She doesn’t have one. Never told us. Never speaks.” He seemed to relent slightly and bent down over the huddled body, resting one stubby hand against the girl’s throat. “Stop your whining, Hawk Mage. She’ll live. You, on the other hand, are fair set to feed the worms. If this twisted protection game you’ve got going has any teeth, you’re going to have to be more selfish and look to your own wounds.” He laughed and waved cheerily, then left the room. 

It might have been hours later, but Numair was still conscious enough to realise that even minutes would feel like hours with this pain, when the spinning slowed down a little. He forced his hands not to wander towards the wound, knowing that he might feel enough fresh blood seeping through the bandages to make him panic. Instead, he pulled the hessian bag closer, wincing at the small movement, and unpicked the string that held it shut. Wrapped in a scrap of cloth at the mouth of the bag were a wealth of pieces of bark, and he nearly wept in relief. He crammed a large chunk in his mouth and chewed until his jaw ached. The fire subsided, and he sighed in relief. 

A pair of accusing grey eyes were staring at him, reflecting the flames from the fire. He took the bark out of his mouth and set it aside carefully. He moved slowly, as if she were a frightened kitten, and then hated himself for even making the comparison. She wasn’t an animal, that was just the healer’s depraved idea. 

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, “Are you feeling better?” 

She didn’t answer. Her eyes narrowed. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. 

“Look, you had to sleep. You needed to heal. I just put you to sleep, I swear it. I should have told you I spelled the tea, but it was cursed difficult to get you to drink it even without that!”

The girl reached up painfully to the top of the fireplace and dragged herself upright. She hissed between her teeth, but only once, and steadied herself against the water barrel. Ignoring the man, she looked down into the water. 

_How can they think she’s mute? Don’t they ever watch her? Even she doesn’t know how much she gives away!_ Numair thought, watching her trying not to flinch away from her reflection.

He knew it was sheer stubborn pride which gave her the strength to stagger over to the table, to pick up a rag, to return to the water. She soaked the rag and cleaned off the blood, at first methodically, then scrubbing at it with a kind of fury. Her gaze shifted from the reflection to her clothes, and without even bothering to look around she began to wrench the fabric from her skin. The man quickly turned his face away and shut his eyes. Something told him that she’d never forgive him for seeing her like that – and he didn’t mean her bruised, bared skin. If she thought he’d seen the raw, naked emotions written on her face, in her tense shoulders and shaking hands, then any tentative connection they might have would be gone forever. 

He heard uneven footsteps and the hiss of fabric as she picked the blanket up off the floor to wrap around herself. Then there was silence. He looked around, and saw that she was sorting through the hessian bag. All traces of emotion had been wiped from her face, and her eyes were as cold as ice. The men had left a clean, patched tunic in the bottom of the bag, and she slid it on without pausing. 

_She knew it would be there._ Numair realised, and the thought made him want to retch. _This has happened before._

_She wouldn’t have been with another person afterwards, though. They’d’ve left her in some locked room, on her own, until she healed. She could shut herself away behind those cold eyes and keep all the pain and anger to herself, and no-one would ever hear how loudly she was screaming on the inside. And I guess there’s a kind of dignity in that- in dealing with it on your own, and having something to own, even if it is just your own pride and it makes you mute. And now I’m here, and she can’t even do that._

Without really thinking about it, the mage reached out to the girl who sat on the floor beside his bed, and stroked her hair. It was damp from the rain barrel. He almost expected her to flinch and run away, but she sat quite still, head bowed, waiting blankly for him to finish so she could move again. He flushed and stopped. 

She changed his bandages in the same blank silence, wincing a few times at some action but never looking at him. He had to talk, then, if only to distract himself from the pain when she frowned and started rethreading her needle. 

“Am I forgiven, little one?” 

She didn’t even bother looking up. He mentally shrugged and tried another tactic. “Look, we’re kind of stuck with each other here. We can’t just sit around all day in complete silence. Well, maybe _you_ can!” he laughed shortly, and had to hide a genuine grin when she couldn’t help flashing a glare his way. Sure, the movement had probably started him bleeding again, but there was a kind of giddiness in his head which was gleefully trying to break through her shell. He chattered on inanely, occasionally winning a sidelong look or another glare, but nothing really worked until he had almost given up. 

“I think I surrender.” He sighed, “You know, I went to university? I’ve had debates with some of the most brilliant thinkers in the world. If they knew I’d been defeated by the silent treatment they’d laugh at me until they were sick. Well done, I guess.” He looked up, expecting her to be looking away, but she was actually meeting his eyes with something close to curiosity. For the first time she didn’t rapidly look away, but raised her eyebrows in a question before tying off the last knot on his bandage. 

“What do you want to know about? People laughing at me? You’re a bully.” 

The corners of her eyes lightened in something close to laughter, and he smiled in reply. “You want to hear about the university?” She nodded, and pointed out of the window. When he looked confused she rolled her eyes and pointed at herself, then at the ground, then at him, then to the distant horizon. 

“Yes, it was far away, in Carthak.” He understood, “You’ve never left Galla?” 

She shrugged, then shook her head. He started to ask another question, but she scowled at him and went to prepare some more willow bark tea and unpack the food from the bag before making an odd gesture that asked him to speak again. He guessed she didn’t make the gesture very often, and she looked embarrassed for even asking. 

“Do you forgive me?” He asked, and then when she looked away he pressed, “It’s important to me. I can’t think straight when my friends are angry with me.” 

She had looked irritated when he started speaking, but she spun around with eyes impossibly wide by the end of his sentence. Did he imagine it, or did her lips move to shape the word? Either way, she formed a question that was nearly incredulous. He smiled warmly and held a hand out to her. “We are friends, aren’t we?” 

If the frank disbelief in her eyes had been any brighter she would have lit up the room. As it was, she stared at him for a long time in paralysed wonder, and the brightness gradually became a simple, childlike happiness as she realised he was serious. When she took his hand in agreement she smiled, and the genuine expression glowed with a strange beauty so unlike her usual thin, waif-like expression that he was taken aback. He kept hold of her hand, and after a moment realised that she was shaking from tiredness and pain. 

He painfully pushed himself closer to the wall, thanking the gods that they were both so thin, and cleared a space for her on the bed. “Lie down, little one.” He said quietly, “It’s more comfortable than the floor, and you need good sleep as much as I do!” She hesitated and he smiled crookedly. “Don’t make me witch you again! Come on, I’ll tell you about Carthak.” 

That seemed to decide her. She smiled a thank-you and banked the fire, picked up the blanket, and lay down next to him. Her eyes shone in the firelight when Numair described the jewelled palaces of distant lands, but he’d barely started his story before her eyes fluttered shut. The mage sighed and stared at the ceiling, finding that sleep was very far from his mind. His thoughts demanded to be spoken, and so he whispered them to the girl curled up beside him. She stirred in her dream but did not wake, but it didn’t matter if she heard the thought or not. Numair’s soft, simple words held a deadly promise. 

“I’m going to get you out of this place. I swear it.”


	6. Chains 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Little one,” Numair asked, “What... what did you do? I just don’t understand how someone like you can end up in a place like this.”

Daine woke up and wondered why she felt so... odd. 

The day was as cold and grey as ever, and she was lying in her cell with her body throbbing from yet another beating. A flock of birds were roosting on the roof, and she could hear them buzzing in her mind like a swarm of bees. Normally she would wake up feeling dull, angry, irritable. But today... there was an irresistible lightness about waking up, and she didn’t feel cold, or lonely, or broken. 

She blinked, and realised that she hadn’t had any nightmares. Not one. For the first time since coming here, her sleep had been free from clawing hands and accusing eyes. She moved to rub the sleep from her eyes, and realised that she was holding on to something else. Someone’s hand. And then, with a rush of happiness, she remembered why today was different. 

“Good morning,” Numair said in her ear. 

Daine smiled and squeezed his hand. If she hadn’t known it would hurt him she might have hugged him, but she squashed the impulse that told her to do so. She suddenly felt slightly foolish, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. He’d just let her share the bed because she was hurt, and because he felt guilty for tricking her. She was so cut off from the real world that the smallest display of kindness made her want to throw herself into a complete stranger’s arms! 

The thought wasn’t fair to either of them, or even true, but it still made her flush. 

She was about to let go of his hand when she realised something. Biting her lip, she sat up stiffly and reached over to take his other hand. She rested it against her cheek and then smiled. His hands were warm – the fever was passing. When she checked the wound it was still raw, still fragile, but the angry red lines that had webbed his stomach were fading and heat no longer radiated from it. 

“Good news?” The man asked, and the playful note in his voice couldn’t hide his own relief. She grinned at him, climbing down from the bed to fetch the alcohol and willow bark. For the first time, she collected them with a sense that they might actually do something, and changed the bandages for fresh ones with good humour. When she had finished she portioned out some of the food that they had been left and handed him his share, glaring at him when he looked like he would refuse it. 

“The little one is determined to get me well, even if it kills me.” Numair muttered to his stale bread, then sighed and ate it with a dramatic, long-suffering look. Daine smirked at him and ate her own food, watching him with narrowed eyes to make sure he ate every crumb of cheese and every piece of bread, then handing him the willow tea with a triumphant look. After he drank she took a sip too, avoiding his eyes for the first time. She didn’t want to talk about what had happened yesterday, and she knew he could read her eyes far too well. 

After that, there was nothing left to do. Daine put the canister down next to the bed and lay down next to him again, telling herself it was because she was aching and tired, and not because her heart felt warmer when he immediately took her hand and held it. Now that his hands weren’t frozen it was harder to think of him as the demon. Daine thought the demon must be the strange magical creature she’d seen trying to escape from him, the one with black feathers and screaming fire in its eyes. She wondered if he’d been cursed. As a man, as Numair, the Hawk Mage was no more threatening than a farmyard cat. 

He told her one story after another in a soft, easy lilt, enjoying his own memories and glancing at her from time to time for a nod or a shrug, or a glare if she thought he was teasing her. They passed most of the day like that, with Daine making more tea or building up the fire, and Numair describing Carthak. Each time Daine lay down more easily, and by the afternoon all the awkwardness she felt had gone, along with most of her pain. The affectionate gestures the man made- holding her hand, or touching her arm- had made her shrink away at first. She soon realised that they seemed almost absentminded on his part, and she found she liked the easiness of it. 

Numair started to describe the Carthaki palace, and she closed her eyes to see the pictures more clearly in her mind. Vast rooms full of books. Endless corridors paved in gilded tiles. Men and women in silk clothes so fine they made no sound when they danced. And they danced in ballrooms whose ceilings were so high the candlelight couldn’t reach them. A hundred, a thousand candles, like bright stars in the endless desert nights, lighting up spinning figures adorned in shining red, and blue, and gold and green.

Daine didn’t think people and places like that could really exist. They were stories – beautiful, wonderful stories! – but real? She hid her face against the man’s shoulder so the light couldn’t steal the beautiful pictures away from her. 

Numair stopped talking and gently stroked her hair. His eyes were strange as he looked at her, an odd mixture of gentle kindness and hopeless confusion. It was the first time that she’d seen them without the sick light of fever making them unfocused and quick. She thought perhaps he would ask her why she was cuddling up to him, but his bafflement was about something much worse.

“Little one,” he started, and then pressed on without letting himself think about it, “What... what did you do?” 

She stiffened, and he could feel her preparing to draw away. He shook his head and stroked the side of her face, where the bruise had nearly healed into nothing. “I’m not accusing you of anything, sweet. Really I’m not. I just don’t understand how someone like you can end up in a place like this.” 

_Sweet?_ Daine’s mind rested on the word briefly, then fluttered away like a bird. She knew, with absolute certainty, that if he knew what she’d done he’d never speak to her again. And... and besides, what would she tell him? She could barely remember herself, just the colours and the sounds, and then the mob screaming for her blood. 

She knew she must have done the terrible things they were screaming about, or else why would they blame her? She’d looked down at her hands as she stood on the charred platform, and had seen the blood. It had dried by then, rust-like in the grooves of her palms. 

Her lungs were filled with smoke and her back ached from standing upright, but it was important, so important, that she stayed on her hind legs. She’d promised. She’d promised so faithfully, and it was important. It was only when they led the pony - looking so small and frightened but still stubbornly dragging her hooves – into the butcher’s yard that she’d finally screamed, screamed her last smoke-choked breath into their deaf ears and lost her footing. It was only then that she broke her promise. It was only then that she could remember being the monster, tearing through them with sharp claws and blood slavered teeth in her sobbing fury. 

One of the officials had told her that the massacre had saved her life. After Cloud, she was to have been executed. They were arguing over whether to use a noose or an axe, but she had made the decision for them. _Such a creature,_ he said, _should never be slaughtered. It should be captured. It should be tamed._ Until that moment, they hadn’t believed the creature existed. After she killed so many of the townspeople, her slavery had been assured. 

_Yes,_ he said, coiling a finger in her hair until it dragged painfully against her scalp. _Yes. We saved your life._

 _No,_ she thought suddenly, her thoughts dragging her back into the present. _They didn’t save my life. They just stopped my death. This... this isn’t life. This is a cage. If they wanted to punish me they would have killed me back then, and had done with it. That was what I deserved._

Daine raised her hand and looked at it as if for the first time, seeing the swollen fingers where she’d raised it to protect herself. She remembered the sick look of savage glee on the face of the official as he raised the stick, the way he’d panted in sadistic gluttony every time it fell. 

_This... this has nothing to do with me, or what I did. It’s all to do with what they want, and what they know they can get away with._

She wondered where the thought had come from, and vaguely remembered angry voices, raised in a fevered dream of pain. 

Not voices. A voice. 

She looked up, and remembered. She realised what Numair had done. What they had said. How he had fought for her. And even though she still couldn’t answer his question, for the first time in six years she found words she wanted to say. They came out slowly, hesitantly, but she meant every last one of them. 

“I’m not... animal.” 

Numair wrapped his arm clumsily around her shoulders and held her very closely for a long moment, eyes shut. “Oh sweetheart, I know. I know that.” 

She choked back a sob of relief, and when he opened his eyes she was stunned to see that he was blinking back his own tears. She reached up with shaking fingers and brushed those tears away, wondering if they were the first ones anyone had ever shed for the slave girl. But just like he wasn’t the Hawk Mage but Numair, she realised, she wasn’t the slave girl either. 

“I’m Daine.” She smiled, feeling her throat already aching at so many words. He repeated the name back slowly, as if he were testing it, making it fit the face of the girl beside him. 

“Daine,” He smiled. “You know, it suits you. It’s a very pretty name! Thank you for telling me, Daine.” 

How strange, to hear her own name again! It was probably easier for him to remember it than it was for her to recognise it as her own. She wanted him to say it again. She wanted to hear it spoken a thousand times in that soft, deep voice.

“Daine, can I tell you a story?” He said hesitantly, as if he hadn’t just spent the whole day doing exactly that. She looked sidelong at him, thinking that she would listen to anything if it meant that she could stay here, with her friend, hearing her name and feeling his arm around her shoulders.

But her few fleeting words had been spent, and she found she had no more of them. She nodded instead, knowing that next time the silence wouldn’t be so hard to scare away. He took a deep breath, his arm tightening for a moment as if he was scared she would leave, and then started: 

“This is... this is the story of what _I_ did.”


	7. Chains 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm too weak to hurt you now, but I might... I might, and to be honest I probably will. I won't be able to help it. But I don't want you to get hurt. I didn't when you were a stranger, and now... well, it's unthinkable."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to update this yesterday, so I'm posting two chapters today. Sorry for the delay!

_Perhaps I should commence with my name, and my life, and my childhood. That's how these kinds of stories usually work, right? But I can tell you're not interested in that. I wouldn't be either, if I were you. You've heard all the stories about me, all the horrible things they say I've done, and you want to know what made me do them. Or perhaps you're wondering why the stories don't make sense. On the one hand I'm a crazed, mindless psychopath, and on the other, a clever, devious man with some kind of criminal plan. I'd like to say I'm neither, but that's really for you to decide. I will only promise, then, that I will tell you the truth, which the other stories will not. Doubt my actions, little one, but not my words._

_Not my childhood, then. Let us start with my name. I was not born Numair, but Arram. Arram Draper, a name that truly instils fear! I almost prefer to be called the Hawk Mage. But no, there it is. Now my name is Numair, and I like it better, but I chose it because it would protect me. I told you about Carthak and its beautiful halls. I did not tell you about the corruption that sits among them like a spider. It hunkers down in the golden halls and lashes out at anyone who speaks against it. And what do you think the charming hero of this story did, little Daine? Yes, you're quite right. I suppose many of my Carthaki friends rolled their eyes at me too, but from a distance, for by then I was across the sea and had fled to Tortall. I made my living as a player. You don't know players? They go from town to town, putting on shows and playing tricks and making people laugh. But that's another story, for another day. Perhaps I'll save it for the next time you're angry with me!_

_...yes, yes, I am telling it! Shakith's teeth, little one, but that glare of yours could cut through stone! Where was I? Oh yes, so I was in Tortall, travelling the roads and hiding from anyone who looked like they might report back to Ozorne. And I met some people while I was on the road, and they knew some other people, and when we reached Corus I met some more people, who wore shiny pointy hats and gave me a job. Oh, don't look at me like that, you're clever enough to work it out. So, this job was... well, it never really had a name. If things went wrong, or they suspected that someone was plotting against them, or that there was a threat, they would send me to find out more about it. If it was something I could solve myself then I had permission to do so, and if not, then I was to gather information and then report back to the army._

_I did that for a few years, and did quite well at it, if I do say so myself! One of the reasons was because I could... well, I have enough magic to shapeshift. I would turn into a bird and listen in to conversations, or fly to places I wasn't supposed to see. You'd be surprised how many people think a washed-out bridge is enough to make us lose interest in their hidden soldiers! And then... then, about six years ago, I was caught. I was held captive, but they didn't kill me, because they knew I was a spy._

_Yes, I was a spy. You look surprised? Little one, there's no guarantee that someone with a lot of power, or money, is going to be a good person. Some people are greedy, and they want more, and they don't care who they hurt to get it. You should understand that more than most people. Do you really think the people who run this place would happily tell other Gallans what they're up to? Five miles outside of these walls, people have no idea that this place even exists. I'd never heard about it before I woke up here, and believe me: I ask a lot of questions._

_Anyway, I was caught spying, and I thought that would be it for me, but they wanted to find out how much I already knew. So they fed me drugs to make me tell them the truth. I panicked, and changed into a bird to fly away, but I'd drunk far more of their potion than any bird could possibly deal with._

_I remember falling. I remember hiding. And I remember darkness, and that's it. After a while I remember waking up and not remembering that I should be human, and not knowing what shape I should be instead. Days passed. It felt right for my face to be human, because I recognised myself in my reflection... but I didn't know the reflected human's name. I didn't feel safe without wings to fly with. I couldn't walk with clawed feet. Half-man, half-hawk, I staggered around the foothills of Galla searching for some clue as to what I was, and never found it. Who would I ask? They ran away screaming. At the time I thought perhaps that they were giving me my answer. When they ran I wanted to hunt them down, because I was more hawk than human, and they were my prey._

_I... I don't remember everything I did. I like to think that I didn't kill anyone, because I... I can't remember killing anyone. But I know I could have. I know I was more than capable of it. All I know is that I came back to myself, so slowly I barely realised it was happening. Some months I was a hawk, fully a bird, roosting in trees and mindless. Some months I was a man, with no memory but not a threat. I think that's why I didn't get caught, Daine. They were looking for a creature, not a vagabond stealing crusts of bread from the market. The worst thing any monster can do is look normal. I continued like that for... well, I don't know how long. But a winter passed, and then a summer, and another winter, so it must have been years._

_One day... a few months ago... I woke up, and I remembered. Just like that. It was like someone snapped their fingers, and my mind returned. And in the same instant that I knew who I was, I realised what I had become. And I was ashamed, Daine, so ashamed. I knew my friends must have thought me dead long ago. I don't even know if they tried to find me. I expect they did. Perhaps they even knew what I'd become, but... I hope not. I don't think I could look them in the eye._

_By then I was so used to being the creature that it was second nature. I'm a powerful mage, Daine. Very powerful. But to use your magic, you have to find your calm centre, and mine is anything but calm! I look into my core and see the hawk bleeding into it. Bronze tendrils in black, so hopelessly tangled that I can't do anything to fix it. I tried. Gods bless it, for months I tried! But even meditating makes me lose my grip on who I am, and I have to fight it. I lost control so many times, and as soon as I lose control I lose... I lose myself again. No memories, no shame, just the hunter and the hawk. It's... terrifying. Not so much losing myself as becoming human again, and feeling the horror that next time, next time I might not be able to come back._

_I knew only two things. I couldn't heal myself, and I was dangerous. So I decided to surrender. I told you I wanted to die. It's not wholly true... I'm scared to die. But I couldn't let the monster live. So I turned myself over to the guards. They were supposed to kill me on sight. I made myself threatening on purpose, knowing they could overpower me. I'd not eaten for weeks, to be weak enough to be defeated. And then those... those stupid officials... stopped the execution and brought me here. And they brought you here, and made their threats. And I realised that... that I can't be responsible for the death of another innocent person._

_Why am I telling you this? I think you deserve to know... to understand. I'm too weak to hurt you now, but I might... I might, and to be honest I probably will. I won't be able to help it. They knew that too, the officials. I think you know that. But I don't want you to get hurt. I didn't when you were a stranger, and now... well, it's unthinkable._

888

_He's lying. He must be lying._

_He looks at me, and I feel something inside me shiver as he meets my eyes with his own piercing dark gaze. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Daine?" He asks, with an insistent note in his voice. "I... I haven't told this to anyone before. But I want to help you. I can't do anything unless you trust me, and I know you won't trust me without the truth. You need to make a decision. I'm offering to take you out of here. Sooner or later I'll have to fight them, and as soon as I call my magic I'll lose control. I won't recognise you. Escaping with me will be as dangerous as staying here with them. But I can't let things carry on as they are. These people are... vile. I have to stop them. But if you know the truth, maybe you won't be... scared, or you'll know to run away, or..."_

_Ha, does he mean the truth is that he'll try to kill me? No, that's not the truth. I let his voice wash over me as I retreat into my own thoughts. The whole story has to be a vile lie. It's disgusting. He must have spoken to someone, heard a story. He thinks repeating my own life back at me will make me trust him._

_I can't even look at him. My life... the memories I guard so closely... they were the only things I had that were mine. They were my secrets. He's just stolen them, as if it doesn't matter. As if the fear of hearing the voice of madness calling was his, not mine. As if he's the one who has to clap his hands over his ears whenever a thunderstorm scares the horses, or when the birds roost in the roofs._

_He's offering to help me. The bitter voice in my mind scoffs at the idea. I hate that assumption even more than I hate the lies. He doesn't know what he's talking about. The guards he's seen are the ones who look after us. They break up arguments in the corridors and bring us food when we're locked up. They're not the same as the cold, nameless guards who watch the walls. They're not the same as the mages who never seem to sleep. They're not the same as the prisoners who have been "cured", who lash out with laughing glee at any lurking figure in the shadows._

_I tried to escape once. I was fifteen, and the healer had given me the final charm in my chain. I'd thought I could handle what I knew they would do to me, but I couldn't. It was the last time I can remember feeling like a person, like I was actually alive. It was before I learned how to die on the inside, how to let my mind soar away from the shell of flesh that was a novelty for them to abuse. I still thought that the only escape was on foot, and I took it. They left me alone for a few minutes, curled up and weeping in pain, and I heard them laughing in the next room with their friends. The officials don't have bars on their windows, and I climbed down with fingers that barely felt the frozen stone crumbling from the walls. It was the stone that saved me, because it broke off in a chunk suddenly and sent me crashing into the outer-courtyard._

_The guard mages thought I'd jumped. If they'd thought I was trying to escape they would have killed me on the spot, and I would have breathed my last breath on the cold stones, barely two feet from the curtain wall._

_The sun was setting. I remember that. I hadn't seen the sky in weeks, but the sun painted the clouds pink, and orange, and purple. If I cried it was because of that. I didn't have the tears to waste when they picked me up and slung me over their shoulders, swearing at the extra chore. I had no reason to care that my leg was broken. I didn't show any real reaction when the healer refused to treat it. They strapped it up with a piece of wood and some thick linen, and said I'd be less likely to run away if it healed badly._

_I was lucky. Thinking back to that escape, it could not have gone any better. I lived._

_I was alive. My leg healed straight and strong, and I learned how to stop caring. But still, I did miss the sky. Sometimes I wonder what it looks like from another window, from marshland or from a field. I long to see the sun setting without thick iron bars across its face... I have dreams about it. My escape gave me that gift, and took my hope in exchange._

_That is what escaping is. I realise that even if I had the words to waste, I wouldn't bother explaining that to Numair. He repeats my name in a soft, worried voice. I realise I'm staring blankly into space, not hearing him._

_My name is ash in my ears, and I wish I'd never told it to him. I thought perhaps he would bring me back to life. I was wrong. He'll be dead in a week. He doesn't know how to survive._

_But he's more alive than I'll ever be._

_My throat closes up, and I nearly choke on the burning acid of bile. I can't yell at him for stealing my story. I can't explain his idiocy. I don't want to see those dark eyes again. Their hopeful concern is a lie, a filthy story that I stupidly let into my world._

_I stand up suddenly, feeling myself reel dizzily from the sudden movement, and deliberately press down hard on the bandage that covers his wound. He thinks he can escape? He can't even breathe without blood trickling through the cloth. He cries out in agony. I feel no justice in what I do, no revenge, no pity and no regret. I feel nothing. I do it for long enough for it to really hurt, so he'll understand, and then take my hand away and stand, silently looking at him, waiting for his pain to turn against me._

_I can't breathe. My eyes meet his, and I feel their darkness tear at my heart so savagely that tears spring to my eyes._

_There is no hatred in his eyes._

_I see only pity._

_I spit bitterly at him and turn away._


	8. Chains 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He slowly took the knife away from her throat. 
> 
> "I can't help you." He said, "I want to, but I can't. But I _can_ give you a few days."

"You seem... different."

Daine stared down at her plate dully for a moment, before realising she was being spoken to and flushing darkly. A week ago... she scolded herself, a few _days_ ago... she knew she would have given nothing away. The guard would have grown bored with his questions, because it was like speaking to a stone wall. He might have beaten her, petulant at being ignored, but there would be no malice in it. And now...

Now, she realised, she simply couldn't pretend any more. She couldn't pretend that she didn't hear people talking to her. She couldn't pretend she was someone else, somewhere else. With the whisper of the word escape had come a breath of cold air into her stifling world, and suddenly she couldn't tear herself away from the cold reality of the prison. Food had flavour again, and the other people had faces, and voices, and names. They'd been shooed away today, annoying the guard with their giggling and shocked questions about the Hawk Mage until he'd threatened to call an official. They'd skulked off sulkily. Daine had waited, staring meekly at the floor, until the guard returned and cursed loudly at the empty kitchen.

"They've gone and left us with all the sortin' to do." He muttered, but something seemed insincere about his anger. Daine looked up at him through the corner of her eye, and saw that his frown didn't meet his eyes. She looked away quickly as he cut his eyes towards her, and she heard him say, "Well, you have to eat, I reckon. Can't all be livin' off that bird food. We'll see if they come back."

Before she knew it, she was sitting at the end of the long kitchen table, mutely watching him pile cold meat and fresh bread and even some freshly churned butter in front of her. He sat down opposite, took a healthy share and gestured for her to help herself with an impatient expression. Daine hesitated over the unheard of feast, and then noticed one corner of the bread was burned. The cook wouldn't miss it, just the pigs. She moved to tear it off.

The guard snatched the bread away from her, rapidly sawed off a thick slice, spread it with butter and handed it to her. His fingertips were rough against hers when she took it. She met his eyes for a moment in silent thanks, and that was when he told her that she seemed different. The words made her blood run cold. Was the word escape written so clearly on her thoughts that the man could see it? She dropped the bread numbly on her plate and felt her nails dig into her palms as she nervously clenched her fists in her lap.

The guard's voice held none of the gentleness of Numair's. He cut off each sentence with abrupt finality. But Daine could hardly believe her ears when he spoke again, and when she looked up the kindness that he couldn't hold in his voice was soft in his expression.

"Mithros' spear, girl, I'm not going to beat you for eating a piece of bread. I figured you'd earned an hour away and some food, that's all. But just an hour, mind..." he looked away, and muttered the last part to himself, "Dakinn will be back after that."

 _Dakinn?_ Daine had worked out that this guard was the healer's personal assistant, since he always seemed to be following the man around. She'd never heard the healer's name, though. Dakinn. She repeated it to herself a few times as she tore off a corner of her bread and chewed it self-consciously. It was good, fresh bread, and the butter was rich and deliciously salted. If he hadn't been watching her so closely she might have smiled with pleasure. 

As it was she couldn't help glancing up curiously, asking silently what had changed, and why the guard was breaking the rules for her. He caught the expression and held her eyes for a moment, his own expression curious until she had to look away. The bread was warm and crackled between her fingers when she tore through the crust.

"I have a sister your age." The guard said in that same absent voice. "I... the night that you were first locked in with the Hawk Mage I went home for a visit. Ellianna was arguing with my ma the whole time I was home. She wanted to go walking with a drover from the next village over. Nice lad, you know, fair pleasant company. Ma wouldn't let her go, though- not alone. She said she was too foolish, too addle-headed to know what she was getting into. Too young." He repeated the words, and then looked over at Daine. The girl was staring at him blankly, her eyes clearly baffled. He cut some meat and cheese for her and piled it on her plate.

"What... what they do to you. I've never thought it was right. The Hawk Mage was right." Daine looked up sharply, and saw the guard was frowning, hands fiddling with the knife he'd cut the meat with. "They brought you here as a child. Children make mistakes, so why did they decide that you have to make amends like an adult? They have a slip of a prisoner who they lock up with an insane killer, a young girl who they beat and starve and rape and call it _justice_... but those same men would probably agree that my sister is too young to go walking with her drover. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

If Daine looked blank it was because she genuinely had no sensible thoughts in her head. Something in her mind refused to believe that someone was actually speaking to her about this- it had to be some kind of trick or an elaborate trap. The guard's eyes were sharp. He caught her chin with the flat of his knife when she finally looked up, stopping her from looking away.

"The only person listening in on the things that man tells you is me...Daine." He said in an intense whisper. 

Daine swallowed and felt the point of the blade pricking her throat. _Listening spells!_ Of course the room was spelled. They never bothered with her room anymore, because they knew she didn't speak. But the others... she remembered the mage guards refreshing the spells every few weeks and shuddered. Of course they would listen to the Hawk Mage. As soon as he sounded well enough they would want to snap the chain around his wrist. They wouldn't trust her to make that decision, but they would trust their own ears.

The guard knew that Numair was planning to fight. He knew that she had been offered a chance to escape. He knew her _name._ Daine felt herself growing cold and fought against the urge to shove herself away from the food and run. This wasn't a friendly gesture, this was a last meal. The guard was going to kill her, and this was just his chance to gloat. She stared at him in horror, and through her haze she realised that there was no malice in his face. He held the knife to her throat simply because it was the easiest way he knew to make her look up, and his words were rapid.

"If anyone else... say, Dakinn... thought that you were talking about anything interesting, then they'd take over as quick as you please." The guard snapped the fingers on his free hand. "But they have no taste for stories about golden palaces and rooms full of dusty bones. I think your friend is cleverer than they give him credit for. So... I have nothing to report to them again today, and I'm sure that whatever I hear over the next few days won't be interesting to them, either."

She blinked at him, and he slowly took the knife away from her throat. 

"I can't help you." He said, and for the first time there was some insecurity in his voice. "I want to, but I can't. They choose people whose families live nearby for a reason. But I can give you a few days."

"Why?" She whispered, the word hurting her throat. He started, and barked out a short laugh. He already knew she could speak, so she might as well ask the question, but Daine saw in his eyes an oddly pleased expression. He leaned back and waved a hand in the air, speaking more comfortably with that one word shared between them than he had managed before.

"I've only been here a few years. You were here before me. I remember the first time I saw you- a tiny chit of a girl, with those big, scared eyes too large for your face, dressed in rags and completely mute. Among all the murderers and psychopaths here, all the ones who have hatred written on their faces... there was a little girl. I couldn't believe it! I thought, maybe you were someone's daughter, or some scullery maid. You couldn't be one of them. So... so I asked the officials."

She met his eyes levelly, knowing exactly what he'd been told. The murders... first the ones in the forest, and then the ones in the town. The madness. The ragged, bloodstained wolf claws that grew from her fingertips when she was angry. The mindless rage that took over, primal and terrifying as it pounced. He was a fool if he hadn't believed them, but she couldn't imagine him speaking to her at all if he had believed it. She sighed and waited for him to make excuses for her crimes, and then looked up in surprise at his careful words. He watched her expression, and seemed to read her thoughts.

"Yes, they told me everything about you. What you did. I don't think you realise that, compared to most of the people we have here, it's very little. The other prisoners... I've met them. They've done... horrible, terrible things. And they meant to do them. They laugh and boast about it. Compared to them, you're practically innocent. The officials don't care about a village full of people, it's nothing to them. They keep you here because they're scared of what you could do if you had your magic back. Compared to most people here, it's a _lot._ And it's power that the officials want to keep. To use for themselves. That's why you were brought here."

 _What?_ Daine couldn't believe her ears. _That can't be true! They want mages like Numair, or like the guard mages. I'm nothing to them. They wouldn't care if I died!_

The guard was watching her closely. "Of course, they soon realised you wouldn't use your magic for them. You're scared of it, aren't you? You don't _want_ to use it, not like the ones who laughed when they melted the flesh from their children's bones. So a decision was made, and things became the way they are now." 

Daine remembered Numair's words then, and knew that in a few brief days he'd worked out more than she ever had. 

He'd tried to tell her the same story as this guard. She felt deeply ashamed of her anger at him. What had he said? _I can't let things carry on as they are. These people are vile. I have to stop them._ He hadn't been talking about the guards, or the healer. He hadn't meant that the guards were vile for keeping him captive, or for beating her. He'd been talking about the officials. The people who ran the keep. The ones who wanted power.

And again, another fragment of that rough, broken voice spoke to her thoughts: _Some people are greedy, and they want more, and they don't care who they hurt to get it. You should understand that more than most people. Do you really think the people who run this place would happily tell other Gallans what they're up to?_

 _I should understand that more than most people._ Daine thought, and felt her hands clenching into fists. Numair had stopped her from letting her mind escape into the sunset, but now it was trapped with her in the keep and it was _furious._ The silver chain around her wrist was scorched with strange, dark fire for a split second, and with a loud crack a dark fracture ran across the face of one of the charms.

She looked up, eyes burning, and the guard smiled crookedly. "A few days." He repeated, and waited for her sharp nod before turning away with an odd expression on his face. "Just remember me when you burn this place to the ground, okay?"


	9. Chains 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Look," he said, "If you can break it without even thinking about it, then you can destroy it easily."
> 
> She blinked and wrapped her fingers around her chained wrist uneasily. Fear made her step away from him. 
> 
> _Break it off? If I break it, then won't the voices come back?_

Daine rushed to the bed as soon as the door locked behind her. Words spilled from her lips unbidden.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm so stupid! I didn't realise...!" She stopped herself, clapping her hands over her mouth as tears started in her eyes. 

When the room stopped swimming she saw that the man in the bed was smiling, a gentle expression which forgave everything as easily as breathing. He reached out a hand and took one of hers, and held it in companionable silence. Daine dried her eyes and smiled feebly, unable to stop her eyes darting to the bandage that she hadn't changed since she'd reopened his wound the night before. Dark blood stained the fabric, and she had to swallow back another apology. If she started apologising she wouldn't be able to stop, and he had given his unconditional forgiveness so quickly she thought the words might only offend him.

Why was he like that? She thought back to his story, and wondered if it had something to do with the madness he'd described. He seemed so ashamed of what he did, even though he had no knowledge of it, that this patient charity might be some way to make amends. Somehow, though, she didn't think so. There was something natural about it, as if it were his nature to want to help people – even stubborn, hurtful girls! She realised that she was studying his face and looked away, blushing.

"Daine," he said quietly, breaking the silence, "What happened to your chain?"

 _My chain?_ She hadn't realised that was the hand that he held, but now he was studying it with wide eyes. Last time he'd seen it he'd worked out what it was for in a few moments; this time, he was asking her. She fiddled with the broken charm that hung, blackened, beside the others.

"I... was angry. Angry like fire. It burned it." She said. 

His eyes widened even further, and then narrowed to stare more intently at the broken link. Unbelievably, he started laughing! It was nicer than the strange croaking sound he'd made before, but it still made fresh red blood stain his bandage. Daine yanked her hand away and pressed it over his mouth as she had before, wanting him to stop – and then gasped when he held her hand and kissed it.

"Oh, Daine, that's fantastic!" He said warmly. "I'm so pleased!"

 _He must be feverish._ Daine thought, her head spinning. She fetched him the willow bark tea to bring down his temperature. He understood her reasoning straight away and burst into another fit of painful giggles. Pulling a face at her warning glare, he drank some of the tea and cleared his throat.

"Look," he said in a voice which was almost conversational. "If you can break it without even thinking about it, then you can destroy it easily."

She blinked and wrapped her fingers around her chained wrist uneasily. _Break it off?_

She bit her lip and felt the links bite into her skin when she instinctively tightened her grip. Fear made her step away, and she pretended she'd thought to build up the fire. _If I break it, then won't the voices come back?_

"Don't you _want_ to get rid of it?" Numair sounded incredulous.

She could just imagine the expression on his face! When she turned around he had pushed himself up on his arms, shaking at the effort but needing to make his point. She scowled and went to shove him back, but her action was a lot gentler than she had meant. She couldn't force herself to be harsh with him. The man obediently lay back down, but he caught her hands as she moved them from his shoulders, and pulled her down with him so she was half-lying beside him on the bed. He probably just meant to stop her from turning away again. He wanted her to answer him, and that was all. But for a moment all she could feel was embarrassment that he might feel the pulse racing in her veins.

She met his eyes for a moment, and then felt a tingling blush starting in her stomach and looked away.

"I..." she started, and then closed her mouth with a snap. He waited patiently, holding her wrists close to his chest. She could feel his heart beating. It made her feel warm and cold at the same time, as the icy thought of the madness came back and she remembered what she would do if it returned. "I shouldn't. _Mustn't_. My magic is..." she couldn't find the words! In frustration she closed her eyes.

A gentle hand brushed lightly along her hair, and stroked down her cheek. She kept her eyes shut, head bowed.

"I know. It's frightening." Numair's voice was soft, comforting. His hand stopped, warm palm resting against her cheek. Daine had to stop herself from nuzzling against it, and opened her eyes. He looked back at her, his eyes intense as he looked into her eyes, through her eyes, as if he could see what she was feeling, and the girl blushed. He smiled slightly and brushed her cheek with his thumb.

"I can see your gift." He told her. "It's... wild and unruly, but you can tame it. You shouldn't be scared of it. It's a part of you, just like your brown hair or those lovely grey eyes. And even with that thing on your wrist it's still there, it's just trapped... waiting. It's not going to go away because you're scared of it, or because _they_ are."

"I lose myself." She whispered, and wasn't sure if she was talking about the madness or the way her thoughts were flitting about when he touched her. His smile was rueful.

"I can relate. But... well, I can help you with that. If you'll let me."

She gasped, "You can make the voices go away?"

He shrugged and winced when the movement dragged on his wound. "Didn't I tell you I was a powerful mage? Ah, my poor deflated ego... all the effort it put into making those boasts, and the fair damsel wasn't even listening!"

She didn't mind his teasing, her mind was racing. "So it can be fixed?" She demanded, needing to know. "It's... it's not my fault?"

"Fault?" He looked away then, for the first time, but not before she caught the glimpse of genuine pain in his eyes. "No, Daine." He said quietly. "It's not your fault."

She touched his pale cheek gently with her fingertips, wishing she could see inside his head the way he could look into hers. She wished that she knew how to help him. There was a click from the door, and she jumped and yanked her hand away as if she'd been caught doing something wrong. It was just someone catching the door as they made their way along the outside corridor, but it took her long moments to calm her racing heartbeat down. Stopping her mind from spinning was another matter entirely.

She gathered up her needle and the alcohol and braced herself to face what she'd done, cringing at the bruises of blood that her hands had printed onto his stomach. She cleaned the blood away gently, every dab a tender apology, and let him to grip her free hand before she began the torture of sewing back the damage. The infection was gone, and she would have felt happier about that if the cruel marks of her petty anger hadn't been so obvious.

"Thank you." He whispered when she'd finished, and she turned away in self-loathing. She expected him to fall asleep again then, like he had done every time she treated his wound, but he fought off the haze of pain for a moment and gripped the edge of her tunic with one bony hand. "Decide what you want. I won't choose for you. Not again."

"Again?" Daine whispered, but he'd passed out.

The man slept for nearly two whole days. Daine paced the tiny room, her own bruises fading as she chewed anxiously on her fingernails and watched the sun drift by the tiny slit of a window. Time was slipping by so quickly – the guard would have nothing to hide, let alone to listen to. And what would she tell Numair when he woke up? Hag's teeth, everyone seemed to want her to escape! As the hours trickled by she wondered how it had happened that the main thing trapping her was her own fear.

By the time Numair opened his eyes, she had made her decision. He accepted the food she gave him sleepily, not meeting her eyes, and ate until he was more awake. For the first time, he lowered his hands uncertainly to the bandages and touched them, a slow smile crossing his face when he saw that the bleeding had stopped. For the first time, the cloth was white, not stained with infection or blood.

"Well done, little healer!" He said in a voice that barely croaked. She handed him the willow tea, but he shook his head and asked if she'd help him to sit up. The girl looked at him dubiously, but he really did seem better. She reluctantly wrapped an arm around his back and let him pull himself upright against the other, slipping the hessian bag behind him so that the knots of his spine wouldn't scrape against the wall. He paled and reeled dizzily for a moment, but looked down at his hands as they were folded in his lap and breathed steadily, eyes serene. The dizziness seemed to fade, and he smiled as he opened his eyes.

"That's better." He said, "I can see you properly now! Hello, beautiful!"

Daine reddened. She couldn't think of the words to respond to his teasing, but made a pantomime of checking his forehead for a fever. He understood the joke and laughed.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might be sincere?" he asked her. Daine paused and shook her head, making sure her incredulous expression didn't waver, no matter how much her heart skipped a beat.

"You: Same words, all women."

"You're right about that. You wouldn't _believe_ how well they work," he said, his voice intense as he leaned forward. "Most women would run screaming from an anthropomorphic bird-monster, but as soon as you compliment them, well..." He sighed and leaned back, "...they still run away screaming."

"Not because of monster-ness. Bad compliments." Daine felt rather proud of herself when that startled a laugh from him. She held out her hand with petulant decision and kept it suspended in the air between them, charms chiming softly. "Take this off, please."

His smile faded a little, although his eyes met her own with warm approval. Instead of taking her hand, he surprised her by asking if he could have the willow tea. She handed him the flask dubiously.

"If you're not well..." she began, and he shook his head impatiently.

"This isn't for me. I need to keep my head clear. As clear as possible, anyway." He muttered the last part and tugged at his nose fretfully as he considered the thin watery liquid in the container. 

While she watched, fascinated, the man held a hand above the flask and whispered a stream of words. They sounded like raindrops hissing, soft words which poured from his lips into his outstretched palm, and gracefully spun down into the murky depths of the tea in glittering black magic. The tea glowed for a single second like a candle flame, and then faded back to its normal brown colour. He handed it back to her with shaking hands, sweat dewing his forehead.

"There." He said. He bit back a weak laugh when she curiously tilted it towards the fire, wanting to see if it would glitter with magic in the firelight. "You're supposed to drink it, not stare at it! Oh, but sit down first."

"It?" Daine asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress next to him. The man made a mystical gesture in the air.

"The magic potion!" he declaimed like a player, and then relented. "Well, it's willow tea. I just put some dormant gift into it. Your... the chain won't let you use your gift; it's linked to your body. And it won't let someone else use their gift to take it off, or to use magic on you. The healer told me that. I don't think he meant to, but... well, he's an idiot. I reasoned that, if you drink it, we have a way to get someone else's magic inside you. The chain won't fight it from the inside, and it won't recognise it as outside magic until it's already in your stomach. It'd be really easy to break the chain from there. You have the power to fight it, you just have to want the magic to fight for you and it will."

"Will it work?" She asked doubtfully, sniffing at the tea. It smelled bitter, chalky. Numair looked embarrassed by the question, and his answer was quiet.

"Yes. I made sure. I tested it."

She blinked, and then worked it out. "You said you just made me sleep."

"I lied." He looked at her, his eyes artless, unapologetic. "I knew it wouldn't hurt you. It was only a little. Enough to crack one charm, it seems." She looked down into the flask, and he tapped the metal with one long finger. "This is stronger, a lot stronger. But you still have to call the magic once you've drunk it."

"It's your magic!" she replied, not sure how she felt. She was sure that she didn't know how to do any of the things he was telling her. " _You_ call it."

He smiled wanly and looked away. His voice echoed back from the stone wall, and she couldn't read his expression. "My magic won't listen to me anymore, Daine."

She hesitated for a brief moment, and then raised the flask to her lips. By the time he looked back around, she had drunk every drop of the tea and was pulling a face at the bitter willow-taste. She couldn't feel anything. She had thought perhaps she'd feel the heat of his magic burning her throat, or a rush of strength as if she'd just had a nap. But there was nothing- just the chalky tea.

The girl shut her eyes and tried to work out if she felt any different. Every time her skin itched or a breeze raised goosebumps she wondered if it was the spell. Then she tried asking it, like he'd said. She spoke inside her head, asking it nicely to help her. She nudged her thoughts towards her wrist and imagined it falling off. She used words, describing melting metal and crumbling coins.

Nothing.

She looked dully at the chain, wondering if Numair was wrong. Why had she felt so hopeful? This was hopeless! She might as well plead with the gods to kidnap her away. At least they would actually listen! She coiled a link of the chain around one finger and felt like a failure.

"You have to call it." Numair said gently. She looked around, her eyes wide and childlike.

"I don't know how!"

He couldn't hide the odd expression which flitted across his face for a moment, although she had no idea what it meant. He hesitated, and then pushed himself across the bed so she could sit comfortably beside him.

"I'll show you. Help you. Of course these idiots didn't teach you anything." He muttered the last part with bitter irony and took the flask from her. "Daine, I thought that you would be able to... because you did it before. That was my mistake, and it's not your fault. But it means that this won't be as easy as... as I described it."

She raised an eyebrow but, honestly, wasn't surprised. If she thought she could escape her chains by drinking willow tea she'd have stripped every tree of its bark from here to Carthak! Still, his expression was oddly fearful, and he flexed his fingers unconsciously as he folded them in his lap.

"You have to promise me," he said, "That if I... if... if anything happens, you won't hesitate to fight back. There'll be no point in pleading with me. I don't understand human words, and I won't recognise you. If you have to kill me to save yourself, then don't hesitate. You'll have your magic back, and you can use it to escape from this place."

She stared at him, aghast, realising that he was more worried about her escaping than his own safety. She'd thought - even if she'd refused to admit it – that he was using her to make it easier for him to escape. Even if he didn't care about her, he'd need her on his side if he was to get strong enough to fight his way free. She was caring for him, feeding him, bringing him water to drink. All she had to do was snap the gold chain around his wrist and he'd be trapped here forever. She hadn't let herself believe he was nurturing their friendship for anything other than selfish reasons. Not truly.

He misread her stunned expression and took hold of her hand, meaning the gesture to be reassuring. "It's alright, little one." He said, "You don't have to do this. If it's too much – too dangerous – then I understand. You're allowed to change your mind, you know!"

His hand was warm in hers, and she couldn't breathe. Without thinking about it, she leaned forward and kissed him, feeling him freeze in complete surprise. Flushing, she moved to pull away, only to find that his hand had crept up to the nape of her neck, and he was drawing her closer. Where her kiss had been impulsive and fleeting, his was slow and infinitely gentle. He hesitated and drew back for a moment, as if he was going to ask something, and then his lips met hers and there were no more words. 

Daine shivered as her skin burned everywhere he was touching her, wanting to hold on to the moment forever. For the first time in her adult life she felt cherished, understood, even though she knew more about her guards than about the man whose hair felt like silk when she tangled her hands in it. She drowned in light, in warmth and darkness, until the traitor thought dragged her back to the surface.

 _He doesn't love me. He thinks he's going to die._ The cold voice said, and she dragged herself back, blushing furiously. _Of course he doesn't love me. Why would I even think that? I shouldn't be hurt by the idea that he doesn't._

Numair was stroking the soft hair at the nape of her neck, and her skin tingled deliciously even as she made an effort to square her shoulders and find the kind of words she knew how to say.

"I won't change my mind. Ever. I'm not afraid if you're not."

"I'm terrified." He said softly. Daine smiled weakly at the admission and bowed her head.

"Me too." She sighed and kissed his cheek, feeling the roughness of stubble under her lips and the heartbeat racing beneath it. "Show me the magic."


	10. Chains 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is me. This is who I am. This place belongs to me, not to my madness, and we are here to reclaim it._

_I don't want to do this._

_Her hand rests in mine with the same innocent trust that made her drink the potion I gave her. Her eyes are closed, dark lashes making soft crescents on her cheeks, and she breathes evenly the way I showed her. I envy her the quiet peace. I can't force my own eyes to close, however much I try. I watch her, and see all the ways I could hurt her._

_We have not begun. Not yet. All I have to do is close my eyes and meditate, and there will be no turning back. We have not started. I don't want to begin. All I have to do is meditate, and the hawk will be freed from its cage. I have kept it there, trapped, for weeks now. It rested patiently for long days, but now it beats against my core like the wild creature it is. Shutting my eyes will be like turning the key in the lock- just half a turn, but the hawk is cunning, and has tricked me before. It is a part of me, after all. It is clever._

_Then, I hear you ask, why did I suggest this? What made me coax Daine into doing something so dangerous, only to back out now? I have a thousand answers. I hoped it wouldn't be needed. I thought I could trust her to kill me. The coldness in her eyes when she pressed down on my sword-cut told me she wouldn't hesitate. But now... I made her promise, but I couldn't believe her words. They weren't empty. They held trust and warmth and hope and something else I don't dare name, but no sincerity. I couldn't believe them._

_I look at her, and think of all the ways I could kill her. She has tilted her head to one side as she meditates, resting her cheek on one palm, and the childish posture makes her look ridiculously vulnerable. She is like a Yamani doll, a strange fragile creature caught in a web of violent monsters, and my heart turns over at the thought. Alanna used to roll her eyes at me for being defensive of women and call it a 'white-knight act', but this seems different._

_I don't want to do this. I want to kiss her again, and hold her tightly, and tell her everything will be alright. I want her to fall asleep in my arms and wake up smiling rather than cringing away from every sound. I want to hear her laugh, and speak, and sing._

_These are all things that are impossible._

_If we don't escape, then we'll be separated the very instant the officials think I am tamed. Perhaps even sooner, if they realise what we're doing now. We'll spend the rest of our lives catching glimpses of each other across distant courtyards, and hearing each others' screams when they whip us for defying orders. How can I spend these precious hours comforting my friend, when we'd both know all too well that every word is a lie? That was why she spat at me when I asked her to escape with me, really. Words like hope and freedom and help have no place here._

_I steel myself and close my eyes. Meditating is second-nature to me, even after years of avoiding it, and it only takes me a minute or so to find my centre. I remember when it was beautiful, a core of black light which flickered in opalescent wonder. I used to love meditating, finding the smallest flaws to focus on, to tame, so I could stare into the black colours and wonder at the fact that they were mine. Red, purple, deep blue and green, flashes of yellow and darts of silver made a glorious oil-painting that only I could ever see._

_Now... now, I look into my core and shudder. The hawk flies there, darting from creeping tendril to barbed black vine, and its bronze feathers fall away from its frantic wings to stab into my heart like knives. Each one writhes, claws at my core, trying to snatch even more away from me. It's a riot of black and bronze, of comforting darkness and terrifying light. I don't want to stay here, but I must. I creep into the world which was once my own, and tease a fretful thread of my gift from the very edge of my core. I have tricked the hawk this way before, but it is always ready to pounce. I draw away silently and the thread follows me – enough to link me to Daine, but (please, please!) not enough to betray me. I have already played this trick once today, when I spelled the tea, and the hawk learns rapidly._

_The gift Daine drank in the potion calls out to me, and in the world of glowing flames I find her easily. She flickers in and out of her core like a ghost, not able to meditate well enough on her own to keep her shape, and I catch hold of her floating shade._

_-It's okay.- I tell her when she instinctively struggles. –It's me. Breathe.-_

_She- the mortal Daine whose hand I hold- takes a shuddering breath and then tries again, her shade becoming more solid as she relaxes. While I wait for her I study her core. It's..._

_... it's familiar, because it looks exactly like mine, if the shades were reversed. My black fire lurks around the outside of a bronze core, which spits and sparks like a badly-built campfire. The bronze fire bleeds into everything. Every cell of her body is swamped in it, but she doesn't have any control over it. It shivers from her mind to her heart to her fingertips without warning. It bleeds into the part of her that is human, and the glowing centre flickers under the assault._

_The shade moves in my arms, and looks around with confused eyes. –What is this place?-_

_-You said you lose yourself in your magic.- I say urgently, -What shape does it take?-_

_There are no secrets here; any thought springs instantly into words unless you know how to hide it. Daine doesn't, of course, but even her thoughts hesitate at putting it into words. –A... a wolf.-_

_-Fantastic. It's never a duckling, is it? – The sarcasm doesn't quite work in a mind-voice, but Daine still picks up on it and bites her lip apologetically. I force myself to smile._

_-There's been a slight change of plan, little one.- I say. –Before we break off the charm we need to tidy up this mess! It's really, really out of control.-_

_I don't mention how similar it looks to my own magic, but at least I have some control over mine! If I break the chain off her with her magic like this, she might burn up in front of my eyes! Even locking all of this behind a chain must have been agony for her._

_-Okay...- she says, her voice hesitant but trusting. –What do I do?-_

_I pause, and then ask her flatly, -Where's the wolf hiding?-_

_She points instinctively, and then gasps and covers her face. Her thoughts stream out in a panicked rush. –How did I know that? What wolf? There's a wolf? A real wolf?-_

_-Not real. Well, real enough for us.- I say grimly. She'd pointed to her human-core. Well, of course she had. Why would this be easy? I study the pool of white light carefully. Four large darts of copper and a wolf. The darts would be easy enough to break free, but..._

_-I need you to lure it away.- I tell her. –For long enough for me to get rid of those copper lines. Then, as soon as I say so, you need to run. If it catches you then you'll lose yourself again. In one touch. Do you understand?-_

_She bites her lip and nods, her shade flickering as the anxiety makes her lose her focus. I smile suddenly, reaching out a hand to touch her translucent shoulder._

_-I remember my very first magic lesson. I had to light a candle on fire. It blew up. I don't think I'd have managed to meditate properly in the first place, let alone agree to take on a magical wolf by myself. Have you ever considered a career as a mage?- I ask lightly. She laughs abruptly, and her shade solidifies._

_-I've never considered a career, full stop!- she retorts. I realise that she sounds different. Her words are easier and far less stilted when she can speak them in silence. I bow my head in acknowledgement of her point, and then raise my head to smirk at her._

_-Well, little one, I think we can name you an honorary mage. Or a little mage, at least. A magelet?- She scowls at me, and I grin. –Magelet it is! Well then, Magelet...-_

_\- I almost prefer 'little one'...- she mutters, and takes my arm with fatalistic joviality. 'Come on, dolt, let's go and find my wolf.-_

888

_A wolf?_

_A real wolf?_

_Wolves don't scare me, normally. But this one does. I know it will have burning eyes and bloody claws, and its fur will be exactly the same shade as my hair._

_This place is beautiful, even though it scares me. I feel instinctively that it's a part of myself, the part that has been locked away from me for eight years, and my curiosity about it overcomes my fear. I want to get closer to the glowing white core, to the part of it that feels safe and homely, even though I can hear the ominous low growl of a trapped wild animal lurking within it. Numair hasn't tried to explain anything to me. Perhaps he thinks I won't understand, or it will scare me. But I feel more confident with every step I take._

_This is me. This is who I am. This place belongs to me, not to my madness, and we are here to reclaim it._

_Numair's hold on my arm gives me strength, stopping me from dissolving into fragments of light every time my focus wavers. I look at him curiously. His shade is more than the skeletal, frail mortal who I've been nursing. Here, he stands straight and walks steadily. He is tall, but doesn't loom or hunch his shoulders like many tall people do. He looks down from time to time, but I make sure I'm always looking away before he can meet my eyes. I don't want to know what I look like here. It's his nature to be strong and confident, and mine is to shrink away._

_Not from the wolf, though. The closer I get, the more I'm convinced that I can tame it. It growls softly, but I hear the voice of the pack in its voice, and want to get closer to it. I remember the sharp muskiness of fur, the thick greasy warmth of lying in a den with heavy paws resting gently on my shoulders. Numair glances sideways at me, and a line appears between his eyes._

_-Don't let it touch you,- he repeats himself, and then adds, more insistently, -Not even its voice. Fight against it. Remember what it made you do. Remember everything. Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts.- he doesn't say anything else, but his hand tightens around my elbow for a second, and he leaves my side._

_I remember then, for a brief shining second, the scream that Cloud made when the butcher slammed the slaughterhouse gate behind him. I remember the smell of blood and smoke and the laughter of the officials. A wave of nausea rises in my throat, and tears spring to my eyes. The wolf growls darkly and I realise I loathe it. More than I fear it, I hate it._

_I take five quick steps towards it, and rest my hands on my hips. The growl drowns out all other sounds, but I still can't see it._

_-Come on then, you vile thing.- I yell, -Here I am!-_

_With a snarl, it launches itself at me. I throw myself to one side, rolling on the fire-laced ground, and laugh mockingly at it. –Is that all you can do? You're pathetic!-_

_-I said lure it away, not goad it!- Numair yells, but I laugh again and dodge another attack. Teeth snap close to my arm, but I dance away on light feet and the shining fangs turn into copper fire. Out of the corner of my eye I see the mage slip unnoticed towards the white core, and throw myself backwards. The wolf follows me, keening in pure fury, and I skip around it in mocking circles. It shakes its head, dizzy, and looks up._

_The glowing eyes catch me for a second, and I am frozen. I can't look away! Its growl grows richer, honeyed in the gaping silence, and I feel it vibrating in my chest. It's a strange rumble... is the wolf growling, or is it me? I'm growling back, frozen and primal, primitive and wild. The red eyes are mine, and show me everything about myself that I hate, and as the creature stalks closer I snarl at it._

_-Daine!- Numair's voice breaks through the haze for a brief second. I shake my head, and out of the corner of my eye I see the glowing core, freed from the bronze tendrils, blazing in sudden pure light. I shake my head and grit my teeth. They ache as they shrink from pointed canines into human molars. The wolf is inches away when my sight clears, and I throw myself backwards in blind panic. I stumble and fall. The wolf springs, and I roll sideways to avoid it, gasping. A bronze tangle of fire whips at me, sinking barbed thorns into my hands as I stagger to my feet. As it touches my fingers they whisper into feathers._

_-No...- I whisper, watching my hands warp into sickening deformity. I can't remember what they're supposed to be like... and how would I turn them back? The tendril lashes around my wrist, then my waist, and wherever it touches me I glow with the bronze light which steals away my human form. I can't even think of the word help. All I know is fear, and the dizzy feeling of being forced to shapeshift against my will. It's like falling, too fast and too brutal to do anything but destroy me. I retch and try to pull away, but how can I when every muscle is shrinking and shifting?_

_The wolf pads closer, sated now I am trapped. Its eyes watch with something like satisfaction. Its fur is soft around its nose. I reach out a hand to it. Soft. Safe. Friendly. Let me be..._

_A ragged bolt of black lightning stabs into the wolf's side, and we both scream as our ribs explode in burning pain. The creature darts away, howling, snarling, ready to attack again. I sag against the vines which hold me upright, barely conscious, knowing only the pain and the constant shifting as a thin, shaking hand grabs my free wrist and pulls. The vines shrink away from the human intruder, who burns with so much black fire, and I am free. I fall to my knees and retch helplessly, shuddering back into human form._

_-Daine...- the human says urgently, -I did it! You're safe, but you have to get out of here!-_

_I blink blearily at him. What is the human yelling about? I look around for the wolf, but it is hiding. I snarl at the human and snap at his hand, and he shakes me in reply._

_\- Wake up! You have to...you...- the human man looks up and covers his head as a massive black hawk swoops down. It screams in the voice of a man, but he cries back at it in the voice of a bird of prey. The black fire that surrounds him reaches out to the creature, thick tarry ropes which stick to his hands and drag the two fiery black forms into each others' embrace._

_And then I remember, and reach up a hand to him. I feel blind panic dragging me back to my body even before, in his last moment of freedom, Numair sends a bolt of light back towards me. It strikes me between the eyes, and the world of fire vanishes like smoke._

"No...!" I cry, forcing my eyes back shut to scare away the real world. I can't get back to that place without his help. On the bed next to me, the mage shudders, eyes shut, as if he's having a fit. I grab his shoulders and shake him, trying to wake him up, but my hands sink into the softness of feathers that burst from the skin under his shirt. He shrinks away from my hands, shadows crossing his face as he bites his lip. I see the red of blood froth at the corners of his mouth, and then he starts seizing in earnest.

Feathers spring from his flesh and then shrink back, his muscles spasm and twist and his hands twist into claws and back in each harsh breath he gasps in. I remember what he told me, to kill him, but I can't move. He strikes out blindly, fighting his own battle as well as against me, and his new claws catch me across the forehead. I shake the blood out of my eyes and force myself to grab his wrists. I know I shouldn't even try to hold him still when he's bigger and stronger than me. But what else can I do?

I can't kill him. I won't. I _can't._

I feel tears on my cheeks, hot and wet, the salt stinging my cheeks. I hold his wrists with hands that are already aching with the effort, and know that I can't hold him forever. The feathers are staying now. He's losing his battle. Soon there'll be nothing left to stop him from attacking me. Numair will be gone, and the hawk will remain.

I shut my eyes and feel the barbs of the feathers growing under my clutching fingers. "Numair..." I whisper, I pray, I breathe. "Numair, don't leave me. Don't. Don't..."

There's a bright light, so fierce my eyes dart open of their own accord. This must be it. The part of him that's a monster, a mage-creature, ready to kill me. I stare down dumbly. The light...

The light... it's fire. Copper fire, brighter than a fire flame, streams from my hands into his wrists in a sudden rush. I feel it flowing from me, draining strength from my fingertips, but even when my grip lessens I can't let go. The fire fuses us together, and copper light seeps into black feathers until both become a shining blur.

Sound rushes back into my ears, and the black from the feathers grows into a wall of darkness until I pass out.

**End of Part 1**


	11. Feeling Real 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Forget him._ She told herself harshly, swallowing so hard it felt like she was going to choke. _Forget it. It's finished. Don't let them see you cry._

They told her that he had died.

As soon as her eyes flickered open they swooped across, glee written on their faces as they pushed at each other, eager to be the first to tell her the news. There was no privacy in the healer's treatment room; other patients peered curiously at her from their beds as she turned her face away from the officials and buried it in the pillow. They told each other that her shoulders moved in a sob, or that her face was white. Either could have been true, but there was one story they knew no-one would believe. No-one dared to say they heard her cry. They knew that no-one would believe them.

Daine didn't tell herself any stories. She didn't have the strength to sit up in her bed, but once she was left alone she drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them protectively. The gesture felt a little strange. She did it by instinct whenever she felt unsafe, which had been several times a day before... before all this. But she couldn't remember doing it once when she was with him. Oh yes, when she didn't know the hawk was a man, and she didn't know the man was a person. Then, she could remember huddling by the fire in fear. But afterwards...? She swallowed back the dry pain in her throat when she remembered lying next to him, his fingers gently brushing along her wrist as he shaped the palaces of Carthak in the quiet firelight.

 _Forget him._ She told herself harshly, swallowing so hard it felt like she was going to choke. _Forget it. It's finished. Don't let them see you cry._

Why cry? The officials wanted to see it, to claim each bitter tear as it curved down her cheek. But what would be the point? There would be no careful fingertips, hesitantly wiping the tears away. There would be no soft words of comfort. Forget him.

They had decided not to kill her. They told her that, the next time they gathered around her to gloat. Their black robes looked like the wings of hawks, and their voices were deeper than growling wolves. Daine didn't look at them. She listened, eyes shut, hands wrapped around her knees, as they described the three days she'd been asleep. The discussions they'd had – in raised voices, and sharp words! – where they'd decided not to kill her. The hawk mage had died, but they knew she'd tried to save him.

They knew she'd used her _magic,_ they said. Daine remembered the copper fire streaming out of her hands and shuddered. Was that what it had been: her magic?

Of course, they told her, it didn't work because of the charms around her wrist. And besides, whoever was healed with a little bit of wild magic? _No-one! You stupid girl. But we know you tried. That counts for something, we guess._

Daine unconsciously wrapped a finger around her chain and they laughed. She released the cold silver as if it burned her, and they laughed harder.

_You spent all your magic, and for what? He wasn't breathing when we came in. We thought you were dead, too, but then one of the guards checked your pulse. It seems you're a hard one to kill._

Daine squeezed her eyes shut tight and resisted the urge to press her hands over her ears. She didn't want to hear any more. She didn't want to hear how they'd found her, hands entwined in Numair's as if she could pull him back from the Black God's embrace. She didn't want to hear how they'd all come to stare at the strange scene before they even thought to check, to see if either prisoner still lived. She didn't want to hear how his fingers had been icy cold when they broke them away from her own. She didn't want to hear how they'd thrown his body to the pigs. She didn't... she couldn't. And so she tried to escape inside her own mind, as she had so many times before. But this time all she could hear was the whisper of her dead friend's voice, hopeful and caring and gone forever. This time, she did cry.

It seemed to satisfy the officials. They sniggered, and soon grew bored, and left.

It was another two days before Daine was well enough to walk. She was escorted back to her cell for a last night's sleep. In the morning, the guard told her, her duties would return to normal. She nodded mutely and heard the door click behind her.

Normal. The tiny stub of candle they'd given her lit up the bare walls, the bed and the shelf with the few brightly coloured feathers she'd collected over the years. Normal. The floor was cold and hurt the soles of her feet, and her footsteps were overloud in the frozen silence. Normal.

She put the candle down on the shelf and rested her head in her hands. She remembered without wanting to. She remembered the soft warmth of his lips, the dusky scent of his skin and the husky rumble of his voice. Normal.

Hot tears dripped between her fingertips and froze on the icy stone floor. Deep, bitter heat rose in her stomach and tried to choke her. Her nails drew blood from her cheeks as they stiffened and flexed in animal rage.

He was dead.

Nothing would ever be normal again.

888

They told him that she had died.

"I don't believe you." He said, and that was the end of it. They hadn't prepared a story. They were so used to power that it hadn't occurred to them that one of the slaves might argue. It didn't matter to them whether he believed them or not. He was as weak as a newborn kitten, but the wound on his stomach had healed into a harmless red scar. They didn't ask where his weakness had come from. They didn't dare do anything except snap the gold chain around his wrist the moment his eyes started to open.

They expected his skin to burn, like it had with the other wild creature. Her magic had consumed her: so out of control that it had nearly destroyed her. They expected the same from this man, but their curious eyes saw only a wash of tiredness, and renewed weakness.

Numair was surprised as well, but he didn't have the strength to wonder why. He didn't know why he was still human in the first place. He wasn't going to risk transforming just for another peek into his core. He couldn't remember anything that had happened after the hawk had swooped down at him, and the officials wouldn't – or couldn't – tell him.

The only person who would know was Daine. He asked where she was. They told him she had died, but their eyes skidded away, and their voices were too quick. He laughed and shook his head until they scowled and told him they didn't care if he believed them or not, he would never see her again either way. That sobered him, and he rested his aching head in his hands and tried to think.

_What happened?_

He should be a monster. Right now, he should be tearing through these pitiful human creatures with laughing talons, not lying here wrapped in feeble gold chains.

_What happened?_

He'd felt the sharp claws in his mind, tearing through his sanity like a knife. He'd heard his own answer, gleeful and wild. He'd reached out black wings towards the shining bird. And then... then...

He never heard words. He never heard people pleading with him, or shouting at him. Their mouths flapped open like comical puppets and he laughed at their sounds. But...

He had heard her voice. Harsh sounds in unpractised words. A soft voice with a Gallan burr. He had heard her calling to him. He turned away from the bird, and it screamed in fury. He was about to turn back, to soothe it, when she cried out again. The words were wild, pleading, and he felt his heart wrench at their desperation.

"Don't leave me. Don't. Don't..."

He turned around, wanting to be with her, to tell her that he was fine, that she should get away from the hawk. As soon as he turned around, light surrounded him: a flood of copper which bathed the dark tar of his feathered hands until the wings were washed away. His own hands looked bare, naked in the golden glow, and as he stared at them the light formed a hand, a hundred hands, holding onto his and pulling him away from the bird. The hawk beat futilely against the shell of copper but could not break through. Protected by her delicate copper hands, Numair was dragged back to the surface. There was no skill or delicacy in the magic, and the shock of being slammed back into his own body was too much for his ravaged spirit to handle. He blacked out.

Numair remembered all of this, the visions crystal clear in his suddenly-safe mind. Hesitantly he let himself meditate. He had barely closed his eyes before he saw the light, dimmer now but still strong, guarding his mind from the hawk.

He opened his eyes and frowned, tugging at his nose with rubbery fingers. How had she done it? She didn't even know how to meditate! How had she managed to break a curse which had been haunting him for years? No... he amended the thought... it wasn't broken. The copper light had faded. She'd protected him, but it wouldn't last forever. The hawk would return.

Still, it was incredible!

He linked his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling, his eyes already feeling heavy after being awake for a few scant minutes. For the first time in years he felt the strange flicker of hope fluttering in his chest. The bird was caged. He could be himself again. He could be human. He could be free.

The chain cut into the back of his neck and he frowned, awoken by the pain. _The chain_...he held his hand up to stare at it. Yes, it was stronger than the one Daine had broken. He could see that just by looking at the number of charms that were strung to the sturdy gold links. Even now he could feel it leeching strength from his bones as it blocked magic from the end of every vein. It would take someone else to break it. But...

... But Daine still had his magic. Well, some of it. Enough to break her silver chain off. And then what? Numair scratched his chin thoughtfully, realising with wry humour that while he'd been unconscious someone had thought to wash and shave him. Then, she would still be trapped in this prison, but with magic she didn't know how to control. He'd done enough that it would never control her again, but that didn't mean she'd know how to use it. She'd be almost as dangerous as before. Dangerous... to other people, possibly. But there was no question that the person most in danger was Daine herself. She'd have to be angry to break it. Furious, like she'd said before: angry, like a fire.

He bit his lip and shut his eyes tight, making his decision as firm in his mind as he could before sleep stole him away again. He had to escape. He had to help her. And it had to be soon. He had a sinking feeling that time was running out. What would make her angry enough to break the charm?

He remembered the odd softness in her grey eyes, and the impulsive way she'd kissed him. He remembered his own surprise. He remembered the rush of heat that made him almost dizzy, and the way he'd kissed her back without needing a second more to think about it. Something about being with her just felt right.

It was captor's syndrome, he told himself. He'd read about it when he was at university: the way that prisoners turned to their captors. He told himself that it would fade as soon as they were free, and that she would turn away from him the second a young swain caught her eye. She would soon find out that not everyone in the world would starve her of human kindness. It would take no more than a few smiles to coax her away from him, and then the Hawk Mage would be alone again. And he would be fine with that, Numair told himself steadily, not noticing his hand closing into a fist. He would be fine with that, because he only cared about her because she had been his captor.

He told himself all this, and didn't believe a word of it. As he was falling asleep, a horrifying thought woke him up again, and he clenched both fists so hard the chain drew blood from his palm.

What would make her angry? What would make him furious, if for a single second he'd believed it was true?

He heard the words, crystal clear in his too-sane mind, and the copper fire seemed to crackle angrily in his ears.

_They'll tell her that I'm dead._


	12. Feeling Real 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wanted blood. She wanted to punish them for everything they had done, and everything they had said. She wanted them to suffer. She wanted them to feel the pain of Numair's death as keenly as she did, in all its agonising, hollow rawness.

Daine picked stones from the hoof of the massive plough-horse, keeping her face carefully blank. The guard had wandered away, bored, and was flirting with one of the farm maids who giggled as she swung her bucket of chicken feed. Around her, the chickens gobbled in excitement, but she obliviously ignored them. 

Daine wedged the pick more firmly against a particularly cruel stone and pulled. The farm animals had been neglected since she'd been away, and the horse sighed in relief when the stone finally came free. She scowled at the raw flesh underneath it, and slathered some goose-fat into the gap. There was little else she could do, except hope that it wouldn't get infected. She silently cursed the lazy farm maid and stood up.

The other woman glanced at her contemptuously and turned a beaming smile on the guard. "How- _ever_ do you stop that little rat from scurrying away? Is that where she's been all this time?"

The guard looked over his shoulder at Daine, and shrugged. "Nah. Doesn't try to escape, that one."

Daine looked at her feet and scuffed her toes against the wisps of straw on the floor, hearing the heavy manacles clink as they knocked against the stones. She sneered inwardly at the guard's bravado. She wondered if he'd be so brave, so nonchalant, if they didn't wrap her in irons before they marched her to the tithing farms.

It had been one of her favourite things, before. She was hurried between the five farms in the valley once a week. Her feet bled from the thorns and stones on the mountain trails, but for a few hours she was outside, and in the fresh air under the open sky. The farmers hated her, staring at her with mistrust, and the officials played on their fear by ordering that she dress in rags every time she was outside. She would never blend in to a market or be able to duck into a tavern, not dressed like that, and it was easier for the farmers to hate her when she looked like a creature.

Today, the torn scraps of fabric had a better purpose. Seeing that the guard's eyes were once again fixed on the maid's rather generous (and conspicuously exposed) figure, Daine quickly tucked the hoof-pick into a hastily knotted pocket she'd fashioned on the hike up the hill. Among all the oddments of material, the bulge of the sharp tool was barely visible. She smiled to herself as she hid it away. It was too easy! She'd been planning it for days, but now she'd actually stolen a weapon it seemed laughably simple.

Still, she still had to get away before the maid noticed it was missing...

Daine carefully tangled her foot in the milking stool she'd been sitting on and then fell forward, clattering loudly against the stone floor with a harsh intake of breath. Straw flew through the air as the maid and the guard whirled around. The other woman laughed suddenly, pointing and crowing at the clumsy slave. The guard cursed and yanked her to her feet by her elbow, shaking her harshly.

 _Did I spoil your mood?_ Daine asked him silently, feeling amused despite herself. She kept her mockery out of her face, and stood mute. The guard swore at her and dragged her away, making a show of his power over her. The maid batted her eyelashes at him and waved a farewell, caught up by the display.

"Stupid, clumsy bitch." The guard spat, hurling her forwards and sending her sprawling into the mud. Sharp, frozen shards of gritty dirt cut into her hands as she threw them out to protect herself, and the chain made a delicate imprint in one of her splayed handprints. She stared at it, dragging herself upright before the guard had chance to grab her again. They set off down the trail. He followed her, shoving her forward from time to time, but once they'd cleared the farmland he stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

 _She's not watching you._ Daine thought cynically. _She flirts with all the guards. You're not special._

She felt the cold weight of the sharp hoof pick swinging against her leg and couldn't hide a smile. They were far away enough now that even if the maid had noticed, she wouldn't want to catch them up just to ask if the creature had stolen it. The sharp point pricked tiny holes in her thigh. It was the biting promise of things to come.

Daine vaguely remembered overhearing one of the guards telling a new recruit that he needed to wet his sword. After a few crude comments they had started talking about the odd idea that a new weapon should be bathed in blood, as if it were a child being born into a violent world. It was an old tradition- a kind of magic that was barbaric and exciting. The soldiers laughed about it. 

Daine liked the idea. She relished the pain, and the promise of all the blood to be drawn.

She had planned carefully, but throughout all of her careful scheming there was a red haze. She wanted blood. She wanted to punish them for everything they had done, and everything they had said. She wanted them to suffer. She wanted them to feel the pain of Numair's death as keenly as she did, in all its agonising, hollow rawness. The tide of desperate fury waxed and waned in her mind, and she found she could think quite clearly. It had been a week since she'd resumed her normal life, and she felt stronger than she ever had before.

There was one thing left to do, and she planned to do it tonight. No matter how long it took, she knew she had to break off the chain. The guard brought her back to the castle just as the light was fading, and locked her in her cell without so much as a word. She stripped off her stinking rags and pulled on her tunic and leggings impatiently, tucked the hoof pick under her belt, and then sat in a tailor's seat on the floor. The stone stung her with cold even through the cloth, but she didn't mind. She needed something to draw her back into the real world.

She closed her eyes, and started to meditate.

888

The door crashed open, and her eyes flew open with it. She stared around at the guard, her expression frantic as the man strode in. He had to do a double-take when he saw the prisoner sitting cross-legged on the floor, but didn't say anything.

Daine drew a gasping breath, pressing frozen palms to her temples with her eyes rolling wildly. A hundred, thousand voices shrieked in her mind, excited and scared and loud and clamoring for her attention. She didn't know how to make them be still! Her own thoughts shrank away, barely audible behind the laughing and crying and speaking and screaming, but she understood the most persistent one as if her bleeding ears could really hear it: _This was a bad idea!_

The guard didn't notice. It was dark in her cell, and his scowl only deepened at her reaction. Perhaps he thought she was scared. He reached out to grab her wrist, to drag her out of the room, and she pushed at him with shaking hands.

"D...don't..." she stumbled, the words a harsh croak. His eyebrows flew up at the sound of her voice, but he simply laughed and dragged her away. This would be a fine story to tell the other guards! They had heard the wild creature had found its voice, but they would laugh to find out that the girl was a coward. She staggered after him, nearly blind even in the torch-lit corridors.

"You'd better not be sick again." The man growled, shoving her towards the door. "They won't stand for it. Too much feeling sorry for yourself, miss, is a bad thing."

Daine pulled away from him instinctively, terrified beyond sense. She barely knew what was going on. Half of her mind was taken up with the voices, and the flood of copper light which blazed from every shadow and blinded her. The other half knew, vaguely, that she was being dragged, that she was being yelled at, and that the silver chain was sliding slowly off her wrist. Several links were warped and twisted, and each charm was blackened beyond recognition. In the blaze of copper light it glittered with black fire, insidious and dark.

_Click._

A wool carpet was soft underfoot, and the room was warm. She blinked frantically, trying to clear her eyes, but the man was a grotesque blur topped with leering green glassy eyes.

"Remember me?" The liquid shape oozed closer, and the eyes swam into focus. It pressed pudgy fingers to a fleshy cheek, and smiled humourlessly. "I'm all healed up now. As are you, I hear."

An official. Familiar, even as a monster. Words. _I can't let things carry on as they are. These people are vile. I have to stop them._ Not her own words, she realised, but they were piercing in the miasma of her screaming mind. She felt desperately sick.

"You're mine, tonight. They all wanted you. They want to make you speak." He ran a fingernail along her cheek, pressing down with the ragged edge of it in a line of sharp pain. "I won. I won, because they only wanted you to speak. I wanted more. I fought them for you."

Her thoughts crystallised. This was the man who had beaten her. The one who had insulted her ma. The one she had slapped. His damp hands were familiar on her skin, and she shuddered, still too trapped in her own mind to move, as they fumbled under her tunic.

A thousand voices in her head all shimmered into one, and she took a step away from him. His hands caught in the cloth and he laughed, the sound irritated. She heard it echoing. She saw the wolf prowling through the copper light, and smiled at it. It was trapped behind a wall of dark fire, but that didn't mean it was gone. 

The official saw her smile and his expression became angry. His hands grew rough against her skin, and he tore at her clothes with oafish spitefulness. He wanted her to look at him, to meet his eyes rather than let her mind drift away. Daine closed her eyes instead and saw the wolf's gleaming pelt, the raw power in its shoulders and the ripple of muscle in its paws.

 _My beauty,_ she called to it, reaching out arms of copper fire, _Oh, I need you! Let's play._

The man gripped her chin in sweaty fingers. His breath was ragged; he was thinking she had moved out of fear. Daine knew she would never be afraid again. His words called back so many nights, nights where her mind had wandered away. She thought she had forgotten the pain, the humiliation, but his words brought it all back, and she felt the wolf surge closer on a wave of pure hatred.

"I won," The official hissed, "because I want to make you scream."

Daine raised the hoof pick in a dreamy trance, pressing the sharp edge against his lily-white throat. She heard the watery gulp of gasped-in air. "You first," she whispered back into his stunned eyes, and smiled.

And pressed down.

The silver chain slithered from her wrist like a rivulet of icy water, glittering in the soft candlelight, dripping down onto the floor alongside the viscous dark-red blood that poured, so merrily, so easily, from the official's white skin. There were no colours in the middle: just dark red next to bone-white, and the silvery-grey of the hoof pick scything between them.

The voices in her mind were suddenly silent. The wolf howled.

Daine laughed out loud. The sound was harsh, a crow of pure delight that drowned out his choking noises, his hideous human pleading, the rattle of drowning breath through the gaping wound. It drowned out the crash of his body to the soft red carpet, and the scrabbling sound his fingers made against the bedpost as he tried to drag himself away.

Well, the wolf was having none of that! It prowled closer, still laughing at its escaping prey, and crushed its scrabbling fingers into the floor. They snapped with sounds like broken twigs, one after the other, and the dying human struggled and gurgled in drowning pain. The wolf didn't care. It waited mercilessly for the struggles to stop. Human eyes, green and pathetic, finally stared blankly at nothing. And the wolf laughed again. It lay beside the fallen creature and rested, its anger satiated...

... a few moments later, snapping out of her furious trance, Daine blinked at the bloodstained room and gripped her aching head in frozen hands. Shaking, she saw that her fingers were encrusted with dried blood, and picked up the broken chain from where it had fallen.

 _What have I done?_ She thought wildly, looking around. , _This is... this wasn't supposed to happen!_

She saw the ashes of her carefully made plan lying around her. She could never escape now. Killing an official was a death sentence. She'd only meant to take the chain off, not bring the madness back! Her head ached horribly, and she retched at the coppery scent in the air.

 _I invited that wolf back,_ she remembered in horror. _Why... why did I do it? After Numair died trying to stop it from reaching me..._

She was sick then, heaving up her pitiful food ration in retching sobs. She'd killed an official. She knew that she would have to finish what she'd started. There was no turning back, now. For a few scant minutes of revenge she would have to keep fighting until she fell.

_I'm going to die tonight._

She sat up straight and pocketed the chain, then her hoof pick. She squared her shoulders and glanced down one last time at the husk that had once been a man. She heard Numair's words in her mind, and smiled in reckless abandon.

_He said, 'These people are vile. I have to stop them'. He said that, and he's dead now, but I'm still here. And I'm going to die tonight._

_So, I'd better make it worthwhile._

_For him._


	13. Feeling Real 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he broke the chain, the other man paused and looked almost uncertain."You have to escape. Not fight. Do you understand? You can't fight. It's pointless, and you'll both die. She won't understand that. But you can make her run. Drag her, if you have to, but get her out of here."

There was a crash, and screaming, and then the sound of running footsteps.

"He's dead, he's dead!" A woman's voice screamed, out of breath as she ran. "Oh, someone help!"

Numair grinned. "I knew she wasn't dead." He told the ceiling matter-of-factly.

The ceiling didn't answer, as it hadn't for all the long days the mage had spent locked in this cell, idly scratching at his healing scar and waiting for them to come and give their daily threats. He'd laughed them off, and when they were gone he probed at the strange copper barrier in his mind as if it were a missing tooth. Each day it faded slightly more, which fascinated him as much as it worried him. He told the ceiling about it, and the dusty grey timbers remained obstinately silent. Not even the glint of a listening spell marred their dusty ugliness. Who would the hawk mage speak to? He was supposed to go mad in here, he reasoned.

"Well, I'm not going mad." He told the ceiling after the fourth day. "I'm bored, but this beats sleeping in the gutter and fighting the rats for my food. I think I deserve to be pampered like this. Breakfast in bed, and such. Gives me time to think."

The ceiling remained obstinately silent, and the man folded his arms. "I can guess your thoughts. But, you see, my mind belongs to me again. For the first time in... well, years, as dramatic as that sounds...! I'm myself again! So I'm enjoying spending some quality time with, well, with me. I'm quite interesting."

The ceiling seemed unmoved by the sentiment, and Numair wondered if perhaps he should be more modest. He was lying, anyway. Lying to a piece of architectural design. How ridiculous. It lacked the capacity to tell if he was being honest. And it probably wouldn't care, either way.

It wouldn't care that the last thing going through Numair's mind right now was boredom, or some journey of self-rediscovery. No matter how much the man squeezed his eyes shut or remembered old times, Daine always managed to return to his thoughts. A memory of talking to George or Lindhall would turn into a hope to introduce them to the girl, and a daydream about what they might say. A philosophical train of thought about a certain book would shift into a plan to escape, or a fantasy conversation he might have with the officials to make them see the girl as a human being. 

He wondered how he'd been healed so quickly, and his only answer was the memory of light, warm fingers brushing against his skin. And always, but especially when he was feeling healthy, or warm, or sleepy, he would feel the agony of guilt and worry as he wondered where she was, and what they were doing to her.

He'd forced himself not to tell that to anyone, not even to the ceiling. If they had any idea how much he cared about her, they could use that against him. Against both of them. If he had broken down when they lied to him about her dying then they would have seen it as a weak point. As it was, they were still trying to break him.

They were finding it very, very difficult.

He didn't speak, think, or behave like a slave. He didn't cry, or beg, or rant at his captors. He simply stayed in his tiny cell, walking around it in endless circles to build up his strength and sleeping peacefully every night. When they threatened him he answered mildly, intelligently, making them leave scratching their heads in confusion more often than not. The gold chain around his wrist might have been an ornament he'd chosen to wear, for all the nonchalant interest that he regarded it with. 

And they couldn't tell that he cared about the girl, not at all.

Inside, he was desperate. Days trickled past as he built up his strength and examined the gift which remained to him, and listened at the door of his cell. Life in the prison was, he discovered, very monotonous. Nothing seemed to break through the frozen facade of a normal, quiet keep guarding an insignificant mountain pass.

Until tonight, that was. The mage sat up quickly and listened, hearing the maid's screams as she fled towards the depths of the castle. Then there was silence. Was it distant hysterical voices he heard, or the calls of bats? Then there was the thunder of hobnailed footsteps, and loud shouted orders in deep voices which echoed into senselessness in the stone corridors.

The cell door was flung open with a crash, and Numair had to raise his hands to shield his eyes from the torchlight.

"Is it morning?" He asked the assembled guards with a sarcastically bright smile. A shorter man pushed through the humourless men and scowled.

"You." He hissed, stepping closer with the cowardly courage of the trapper who knows the wolf has no teeth. "You know something about this."

"Me? This?" Numair smiled in baffled politeness and made a point of looking around the room he was locked in, at the chain on his wrist, at the longer chain which shackled his leg to a loop in the centre of the cell. "Yes... I overheard some gossip on my nightly stroll through your delightful grounds. Nice peacocks, by the way..."

"Bring him." The healer said curtly to the nearest guard. The man saluted, and then flicked his eyes up at the other guards who stayed after the healer had gone.

"Well, check the perimeter, you idle bastards." His voice was brisk, petulant. "I don't want her charging in when I've got my hands full with this one, now, do I?"

"You'll be alright on your own, Ronan?"

"I just said so, didn't I?" The soldier growled. The other men nodded, saluted hastily and peeled away. Numair watched the one remaining man- Ronan- turn to the heavy chain on the floor and press a glowing finger to the magical lock. It fell away with a clang. The captive looked up at the door and wondered how far he would get if he managed to strangle this guard with the chain.

"Tempting, isn't it? But if you do that then you won't be able to help Daine." Ronan said casually, a loop of the chain wrapped around his wrist. Numair blinked, laughed in surprise, and then held out empty hands.

"How do you know her name?" He demanded. Ronan smiled.

"Your little one?" He watched the mage's reaction with a strange kind of sadness, and then nodded. "Ah, yes." He said, not really answering the question, "Well, give me your hand. No, you idiot! The one with the chain on it. _Gods_."

Numair held out the chain mutely, completely bewildered, still considering the man through narrowed eyes. This was the same man who had moved Daine closer to the fire, when she'd been so badly beaten. This was the one who had given her the blanket. Small acts of kindness, sure, but he was quickly learning that in a place like this they were almost unthinkable luxuries.

Before he took the chain, the other man paused and looked almost uncertain."You have to escape. Not fight. Do you understand? You can't fight. It's pointless, and you'll both die. She won't understand that. But you can make her run. Drag her, if you have to, but get her out of here."

Numair blinked, and nodded back just as uncertainly. The guard bit his lip as he considered the chain, and then pressed a finger to one link and whispered a word. Butter yellow fire glimmered for a second, and then faded.

"Break it when you need to, at that point." Ronan whispered quickly. "Just – pull it. Snap it. It's weak enough now. Don't try to magic it off, whatever you do! And... it was weakened on its own, understand? A faulty chain."

"Thank you." Numair whispered back, and the other man dropped his hand as if it burned him.

"Save your thanks. You're a useful tool to me, nothing more. Just a... a device. If I could protect her myself then I'd leave you here to rot. And gladly."

"Understood." Numair caught the man's eyes for a moment, and saw the depths of an emotion that was so fine a mixture of hatred, hope, fear and compassion that it made his own heart jump into his throat. "I am sorry."

Ronan spat on the floor and yanked at the chain, conversation over. It cut sharply into Numair's ankle, and he stumbled to his feet. One hand wrapped around the chain on his opposite wrist, he tried to quiet his racing heart.

 _Pick your time well,_ he thought, and his knuckles turned white around the weak link. He caught sight of the back of the healer's head in the line of guards they had caught up with, and felt the hot sickness of rage rise like bile in his throat. He had to stop himself from tearing the chain of right there and blasting the man with fire, now he knew that was an option.

"She's vanished." One of the guards was telling the healer in a voice he didn't bother to lower as they walked. "They think they've spotted her near the north wing, but..."

"But she's clever." The healer's voice was like oil. "More clever than we gave her credit for. One casualty is understandable, more would just be careless. She fooled us with the hawk mage, and she fooled us with Official Genat. We won't be tricked a third time."

"She'll be looking for him." The guard indicated Numair with a shrug of one shoulder, but Ronan was already shaking his head.

"She thinks he's dead. Why on earth would she look for him? What would she look for? His body? His rotten, pig-chewed bones?" He seemed to relish the last phrase, and the mage couldn't help shuddering. The guard smirked back at him, but his eyes were humourless and held a message. "She thinks he's dead, and she's avenging him. I'd look to the officials. And Dakinn." He said it flatly, so emotionless that the healer's horrified reaction seemed almost comical. 

Ronan shrugged. There might have been some sadistic pleasure in his words. "She'll be after you, sir."

"Pure conjecture." The healer blustered, stumbling over the word. But his steps quickened.

"Where might we be going, on this fine winter's evening?" Numair asked loudly, wondering if there was any chance she might overhear and know he was alive. Half of the guards cut their eyes back at him, the other half ignored him.

"She knows where all the officials' rooms are, after all." Dakinn mused out loud, still walking very fast. "She doesn't know where the safe room is. So even if she is going after them, then..."

His voice was lost in the echoes of a stone tunnel, and Numair had to duck his head as they all squeezed through a tiny passage cut into stone. It broadened out into a vast room, more like a cave than a room, and they were barely inside before an iron door clanged shut behind them. There was a rustle of anxious voices in the darkness, and then a lantern was lit, and collectively the shadowed men breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're hiding from a little girl?" Numair asked, and laughed mockingly. Ronan yanked at the chain, and he fell over with a yelp, still giggling. "Ah, you're truly the terror of Galla, my lords!"

"There are others who fight for us. We have power, and gold, and intellect." One of the men said in a cold voice. "We can buy people to die for us."

Amidst the murmur of agreement Numair's answer cut through poisonously. "Would they still agree to do it, though, if they knew what you all did to her? Or did you keep _those_ details secret, my lord officials? How harshly would _you_ punish a torturer or a rapist in this prison of yours? I'm damned sure none of you are people _anyone_ would want to die for. Money can't buy back the things you've done. And she's only one person - one girl against all of you! How many others have you broken and killed with your gold and your power and your intellect?"

The guards stood silently, looking at their feet as their eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. Looking around, Numair could see that many of them had only learned the truth very recently, or, if they had known it, had never really thought about it enough to question it.

"We will not take lessons in morals from a man who let innocent children burn in their beds, and who slaughtered priests at their morning prayers." The voice had the air of finality, and Numair caught his breath at the accusation. He couldn't remember doing either of those things, but that didn't mean he hadn't done them. He lay on the floor, stared at the ceiling, and felt the cold stone at his back.

 _Run away, don't fight._ He remembered Ronan's words, and regretted agreeing to them. It would be so easy to burn this room, to shield himself and his ambivalent captor and ring the walls in black, roaring flames. The stone would soon cool down again, and the iron door was bolted on the inside. But the men outside of this room were the dangerous ones, and that was where Daine was. He needed to protect her, not avenge her. And so he lay quietly, thinking quickly and wrapping long fingers around the chain. No-one was paying him any attention, not yet. If things got worse, he guessed, they would try to use him for leverage against her. But aside from a few distant yells there was no real sign that anything was going on at all.

So, he needed to reach her. Ronan was right: he needed to run away. 

_Run away?_ Nothing easier. 

Numair snapped the chain between two long fingers, as easily as if it were made of wax. The manacle on his ankle took no more than a spark of the gift to melt away, and casting a tiny amount of darkness in a blackened room to cover the glitter was child's play. He was free from his chains, and slipped through the crowd as a silent shadow. They were in the centre of the room, and the entrance he had come in through was a few feet away – one of many, and not guarded like some of the others. He whispered up to it on silent feet. A small part of him danced gleefully at the ease with which he used his magic. It was so simple: like old times, before the hawk haunted him.

Now. The door. It wasn't warded, so he could slip through the wood and stone of it, but it would drain a lot of his gift. It was held shut by a single wooden bar. Presumably they would ward it if they saw a threat. He would have to simply open it - a risk, but it made him think of an idea, and he grinned. Quickly, silently, he raised the bar and let the door swing open. A guard saw him and shouted, striding forward, but by then the mage had raced through and pulled the heavy door shut behind him. Of course he could not lock it from this side. He pressed a thin hand against the metal and whispered a few words, sealing the iron to the rock and warding the door for good measure. Hoarse shouts of outrage followed him, and he laughed out loud.

They were trapped. Caged. _Let's see how you like it!_ he thought. 

They might come through another door, though. Before they even stopped pounding at the sealed door and thought about how they could catch him, Numair disappeared up the tunnels into the keep.


	14. Feeling Real 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Will you make it quick?" Daine asked. 
> 
> "Quuiiiick?" The woman drew out the word. Standing up straight, she was almost a foot taller than the girl, and she loomed over her with hunger written in her eyes. "No, my darling dearest dainty duck! Of course not! Little Anja will have more reward with every little squeak the mouseling makes."

The air was heavy with the copper scent of blood, and a strange silence. The echoes of screams still clung to his ears, but the screamers were strangely silent. Despite himself, Numair was afraid. He didn't know what to expect. For all Ronan's conviction that the mage was the person who could convince Daine to stop fighting and leave, Numair had none of the same certainty. He didn't even know what the girl had done to be locked up in the first place, and now she was terrorising an entire castle full of soldiers on her own. He trod lightly, and avoided leaving footprints in the dark pools that spilled out of some of the doorways.

Without the chain around his wrist, his magic seemed to boil in his veins. If he hadn't spent the last eight years forcing himself to control wild surges of magic it would be spilling like lightning from his fingertips. As it was, he was hyper-aware of every magical thing in the world around him. The prison was full of magicked locks, spelled chains and listening spells, but amidst these small magics lurked a larger threat. Ahead, he could feel the glow of bronze magic, but even as his heart raced in relief he felt the darker shining of unfamiliar magic, a viscous green gift that was moving slowly towards her. Other auras were searching through other parts of the castle, but the green gift... that moved with determination. The mage knew where Daine was, and was closing in.

He hurried his steps. The number of dead bodies stunned him, as he ran along the corridors, but some cynical part of his mind chimed in. These couldn't have all been killed by Daine. Some of the doors were blasted open, as if by magic. Some of the corpses lay half-out of their rooms, twisted in tortured poses that spoke of excruciating magical death. Daine couldn't do that. She might have killed the first man, but these people were killed in the panic. Perhaps some of the guards lashed out, but he was starting to think...

A high-pitched laugh rang in the air a few corridors to his right, and he kept running without taking the turn. They had let the other prisoners loose to catch Daine. This was why the other officials were hiding in their safe room. They weren't scared of Daine, they were scared of what the other convicts might do. They probably had some kind of spell attached to their chains which meant that the healer could snap his fingers, and they would all drop down in a deep sleep so they could be taken back to their cells. The officials would be fine. But anyone outside of the safe room- the servants, the stragglers, any other slaves- well, they were easy targets, and the convicts laughed at their suffering.

This was why they'd been told to run, not fight.

Numair shuddered and ran on. The grating laugh kept pace with him in the parallel corridor, but was met by a scream. He hesitated for a moment, and then heard the unmistakable sound of a death rattle. Whoever the other mage had caught, it was too late to help them now. He ran on.

The corridor opened out into an old solar, which was still full of looms even without the courtly ladies to weave on them. Cheap fabric was being crafted in the place of the ornate fabrics those ladies would have made, but it hung in abandoned tatters. The wide windows let in the frozen winter air, and the slim silhouette of a girl stood at one, arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the moonlit clouds. As his eyes adjusted to the light he could see that she was covered in blood, and that her clothes were torn. She stared blankly at the sky, listening to the crashing and screaming in the prison around her, and her fingers clenched and unclenched around a strange, curved blade she held in one hand.

"Daine," he breathed softly, taking a few steps forward. She didn't hear him. Before he could reach her the harsh laughing mage crashed into the room. It was a woman, her hair a wild tangle of flying dreadlocks as she fell to her feet and sprang upright from all fours, agile as a tumbler as she danced from loom to loom.

"Theeeeeere you are!" The mage trilled, only seeing Daine in the moonlit room. She grinned, showing a mouthful of over-bright teeth, and crouched down easily on the floor. The chain she had around her wrist clattered on the tiled floor, and a second one on her opposite ankle answered its chime.

The girl turned around and looked at the woman, her eyes so blank they were nearly empty. "Anja." She said flatly, making the words come to her lips with slow deliberation. "Are they that scared of me?"

"Terrified, my lovely luscious lass! You can taste it!" The mage licked her lips and stood up straight, her locks swinging well past her waist like a cloak. "Which one did you kill?"

"Does it matter?" Daine looked away, pulling her torn tunic across herself as if she could hide the bruises on her throat and chin along with her nakedness. "I wanted to do more. I couldn't. As soon as they found out..." she shrugged and let go of the cloth, not caring any more. "Well, perhaps it was worth it."

"You must learn to sneak, little pet! Sneak! You should have kept your voice silent and let your steps follow it!" The voice came from near the window, and Daine jumped when the woman crawled out of a shadow. She hadn't seen her move. She backed away towards the centre of the room.

"That's your trick. Not mine." She said quietly. "Will you make it quick?"

"Quuiiiick?" The woman drew out the word. Standing up straight, she was almost a foot taller than the girl, and she loomed over her with hunger written in her eyes. "No, my darling dearest dainty duck! Of course not! Little Anja will have more reward with every little squeak the mouseling makes."

"And then they'll throw you back in your hole, to rot." Daine retorted, her voice suddenly heated as she stopped trying to reason with the convict. "Oh, they might give you an extra blanket. Then you can pretend you're back at your laundry, strangling maids with bed sheets. But you'll still be trapped. In a hole. Rotting." 

She smiled and raised her hands, seeing how the moonlight danced over her bare wrist, showing the woman that her chain was gone. The mage drew back, hissing through her teeth, and Daine smiled.

"I'd rather die free than buy a day more of their foul life with their twisted coin." She said simply. Then she raised her hand to her neck, and Numair saw the silver glint of the curved knife in her fist as she drew a deep breath, ready to cut her own throat. He cried out and took a step out of the shadows, ready to stop her. Daine looked up.

She gasped, blood draining from her face, and her eyes widened. For a horrible moment he thought she'd cut her throat already, but it was shock which made her stumble backwards and fall to the floor. Anja laughed at her clumsiness, then thought to look around, her own face twisting in glee.

"Ahhhhhhh, the little birdy boy manic mage!" She crowed. "I hoped I might meet you, flappy!"

"Get away from her." He said, letting his gift finally crackle from his fingertips.

Daine made a sobbing sound, hands pressed to her face as she stared at him in shock, and her knife clattered to the tiles next to her. She had tried to muffle the sound, but even with her hands pressed over her mouth it was enough to distract him for a split second. 

The witch crowed her grating laugh and sprang, not even bothering to summon her own magic as she leapt at her new prey. Numair turned and put up a shield, cursing himself as he was knocked back under the blow. Getting distracted would get them both killed! He backed away, letting the mocking woman think he was nervous of another attack, while he was really drawing her away from Daine.

"Did you really strangle people?" He asked, breathlessly trying to stall her as he constructed another, stronger, shield. The woman shrugged, not interested in speaking.

"I started by strannnnnngling. Their faces went purple." She grinned, and he saw why her teeth were too bright. They were made of silver, gleaming in the moonlight. "Then I started..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but threw a bolt of greenish magic at him with such sudden speed he had to throw himself to one side to dodge it. It struck a loom, which slowly melted into a strange, viscous liquid.

"Ahhhh, yes. That spell." The woman said dreamily. "Melted the colours right from their booooones. Such pretty colours. I miss using it."

She turned around, looking for Daine, and Numair frantically wondered how he could stop her from casting that spell again. He thought rapidly, but after eight years the spells didn't leap to his mind as easily as they once had. He sprang up and mist streamed from his hands, freezing on her hands and face as soon as it touched her, sealing her mouth shut. She waited for a split second, and then threw herself forward face-first onto the tiles. The ice shattered. Blood streamed from her nose when she stood up, and she wiped it away with the back of one hand.

"Pathetic." She spat blood on the floor, and whipped her head around. 

Her locks span around her face, and for a split second there was nothing, and then a shockwave of spiralling wind threw Numair back across the room. He lay there, too stunned to move. Anja prowled towards him, hands raised, but just as the sickening green light was pooling around her hands she fell backwards with a strangled gasp.

Daine was clinging to Anja's back, holding on grimly as she ripped the woman's locks, yanking her head back and holding the knife to her throat. Anja laughed hollowly.

"Are your feet even touching the ground, little mischief of a monkey?"

Daine blinked, and in the same movement as before the witch spun her head, not caring about the thin line scored across her throat as she hurled the girl across the room. She smashed into one of the looms, skidding across the tiles in a tangle of sharp broken wood rotten threads. Anja licked her lips and advanced on her crumpled body, shoulders hunched.

"You never fought for yourself, did you? Little liar of a fake felon that you are. We always despised you. Taking the blame for someone else's battles like a martyr, and wandering around with your head bowed like you deserved it. We... hate... you." 

She smiled and looped an arm around Daine's shoulders, taking the knife with something close to tenderness. For a moment she could have been the girl's mother, cradling her in her arms as she struggled back to consciousness. 

"I was so happy for you, little darling pet, when I heard you'd ripped that bastard's throat out. I knew it was just a matter of time. But now... you disappoint me, my pet." She span the knife in her fingers, eyes sorrowful. "You were fighting for him, weren't you? For the bird. All along, just another cause for saint Daine to fight for."

"Some things are... worth fighting for." Daine whispered, struggling to open her eyes. Her fingers scrabbled at the floor, finding a broken chunk of loom and holding onto it grimly. The convict laughed and dropped her, not caring that she landed heavily on the tiles. She studied the curved knife for a split second, and then raised it with a grin.

"I'll cut your tongue out fiiiiirst, little lying leech. I know you won't miss it." She started to lean forward, and then stopped, a line appearing between her eyes. "What...?"

Guided by black fire, almost invisible in the darkness, every loom had thrown out hundreds of old tendrils of coarse linen threads. They had gently wrapped themselves around the witch, tangling in her grimy hair and looping around her arms and legs, but it was only when she made the move towards Daine that they were suddenly pulled tight.

The woman screamed out a curse as more and more strands looped around her and she was trapped. If she had moved backwards, away from her prey, then she might have been able to cut the strings with the knife. But she was so irate, so fixed on the girl in front of her, that she never thought to do that. She screamed and green fire poured from one hand, burning through the cords even as thicker strands began to wrap around her throat and squeeze, merciless. Even as she choked out her last breaths she raised her hand, wanting to strike, to kill.

Daine blocked the blow with the piece of broken wood, and then stabbed blindly upwards, desperate to stop the attack from coming again. Warm liquid flowed over her hands and she gasped, pushing herself backwards as the woman bled out onto the floor. The white strands which bound her slowly blossomed red, like a flower, from the gaping wound on her chest. She stared at her, panting, the wood still raised, and nearly screamed when a hand fell onto her shoulder.

"It's okay. You're okay. She's dead. It's over." The man said in a rush, and she blinked a few times to clear her eyes. Her panting turned into great heaving sobs, and she clung to him. He picked her up easily, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe, but she still couldn't stop crying.

"Ssh, ssh, magelet. You're safe." He murmured, and she shook her head through a blur of overpowering emotions.

"You're alive!" She gasped, and dissolved into a new flood of tears. 

He held her even closer for a moment, feeling tears sting his own eyes. He wanted to stay there, holding her safely, until her tears stopped and she smiled again. But even as he held her he could feel one of the other mages drawing closer, and he knew that they had to escape quickly. Even the small amount of magic it had taken to bewitch the looms had nearly broken through the copper shield in his mind, and he could tell she was in no state to even think about casting another one.

"Daine," He said quickly, "We have to get out of here. I can't fight another one of them. Not now. We have to get away. Do you understand?"

She nodded, looking up into his eyes with such complete trust that he felt almost uneasy. "You're alive," she whispered again, as if she hadn't heard a word, and raised a hand to touch his face. A slow smile glimmered through her tears, and she abruptly kissed him with such violent tenderness that he was taken aback. Her lips tasted of salt and copper, and his gift burned at the threat of the other mage, but all that fled from his mind as he kissed her back. Even when she pulled away and smiled, even when he put her down, she still couldn't stop staring at him in absolute wonder.

"The windows here are big enough to fit through. Can you climb?" He asked her, his own mind spinning giddily. She nodded, not looking away, and he smiled at her.

It was easy enough to cast a spell on the remaining looms, and make a strong knotted rope from them which embedded itself in the wall. They climbed down onto a shelf of rock and found a goat-path which led them further along the mountain, and just like that, they were free. The rocky outcrops of the pass hid them from the keep within a few miles, and they kept walking off the trail until they found a brook. The sun rose and they kept walking through the brook, knowing they wouldn't leave any footprints, and when it began to set they found a new trail and started to follow it. It led them to the cusp of a small mountain, and there they stopped to catch their breath.

From the top of the hill they could see the keep, grey and looming at one end of the pass. Steep spikes of impenetrable mountains rose up on either side of it, as if the battlements and the land had made a pact to copy one another. And then, closing the walls at the opposite end of the valley, a second keep sat, identical to the first, smugly blocking off the trade route towards Tortall. The valley was vast- at least fifty miles long, but completely locked in by the fortress of stone and iron. The only way to get in or out was through the keeps, by passing through a thick portcullis and being waved through by a soldier.

"We're still trapped." Numair breathed, and then laughed harshly, his breath making a cloud in the cold air. "This whole valley is a cage."

"There're towns," Daine pointed out, seeing the distant glimmers of candlelit buildings. "If we could find someone to help us- to blend in, to look normal, then..."

"Perhaps." He acceded, sighing. He suddenly felt very tired, as the adrenalin of their escape wore off. Daine's eyes were over-bright as she stared down at the valley, hands twisting as if she could shape some bridge across the mountains from the air. Numair knew that even a bird would have trouble flying through those mountains, where glaciers danced with soft snow and even a soft caw would start the heavy ice tumbling down.

"We should find somewhere to sleep before the frost settles." He said, and took hold of her hand. "Come on, magelet, we can make plans tomorrow."


	15. Feeling Real 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You can still die when you're happy. It's no more pleasant than dying when you're sad."

Daine woke up and blinked, shivering in the icy air. They had found a small incline under a rocky shelf. The cliff-face was blanketed by ferns, more sheltered than the exposed hills and hidden away from any passing mountain folk. Raindrops pattered on the leaves, and the wan dawn light streamed through the leaves in a disorientating green hue. It was like another world, and it took her a moment to remember where she was.

Numair still slept deeply beside her, one arm pillowing his head, the other still encircling her shoulders. She cuddled up to his sleeping warmth. It seemed like some kind of dream, to lie sleepily beside him under the old fur - a horse blanket they'd risked stealing from the stables of a remote inn. She felt warm and free... if not entirely safe. It was the kind of dream where, at any moment, someone might burst into the room and wake you up. The troubling thought woke her again from a half-doze, and she nestled closer to the man.

Dreamily, she looked at him, as if she was seeing him for the first time. Alive. A long, thin face framed by dark hair. Even without his arresting black eyes it was still an attractive face, she decided. He frowned slightly in his sleep, but it was a gentle expression. She kissed his cheek softly, knowing he wouldn't awaken from such a light touch, and rested her hand on his chest. He breathed evenly, and she leaned her head against his shoulder peacefully for a few minutes. She could hear his heartbeat, and something in her stomach warmed at the sound. Alive.

She already knew his body, but she'd known it as a healer trying to mend a broken shell. Now, warm and whole and alive, every inch of his skin fascinated her. Part of her mind didn't believe he was really here, and that he was really strong and healed. It was impossible. She slid her hand inside his shirt without thinking about it, sensing the lines of his chest and the raised healed scar with her fingertips, wishing it wasn't too cold to draw the fur away and see the shape the scar made across his stomach. He breathed in more deeply than before, and she looked up into open, sleep-addled black eyes.

"Daine?" He asked in a confused voice, still trapped in the world of dreams.

"Ssh." She said, running her hand along his chest and across his shoulder blades. Yes, he was still too thin, but the skeletal, deathly look had faded. He shivered, and she wondered if he was cold, when now she felt so deliciously warm. He took a breath again, and she realised she didn't want him to break the silent, tender dream that danced around her. She kissed him before he could speak, pressing closer and closer to him as he sleepily wrapped an arm around her back and held her tightly.

"What are you doing?" he whispered in her ear when they broke apart. His voice was sounding more awake now, and although there was an undercurrent of uneasy laughter in his tone she knew he was quite serious in asking. 

She swept her fingers back across his skin and tangled her other hand in his hair, prompting some unconscious instinct as he reached up to kiss her again. Soft fire raced through her body, tingling in her fingertips and pooling in her stomach. He laughed raggedly, breaking away and cupping her chin in his free hand, eyes flicking sideways.

"This is..." he stopped and shut his eyes tight for a second, frustrated at his lack of words as she stroked soft fingertips across his stomach. "Daine, little one, sweetheart, please. Please stop doing that. I can't think when you're doing that."

"Why do you want to think?" She asked. He shook his head, eyes still shut, and she held her hand still over his racing heartbeat.

"Not that I'm saying this isn't a nice way to wake up, but... but Daine, you mustn't." He said earnestly, eyes clear from sleep now. Whatever his thoughts were, they came out in a rushed babble. "It'll wear off, you see. It's not real. What we feel for each other is just... just an illusion. It's because we need each other. Because we have to fight, not because we're... we're..."

He lost his train of thought and his thumb lightly brushed against her cheek, then traced the shape of her face with the same kind of delicate curiosity she'd felt flickering in his eyes. Daine closed her eyes and let herself feel the warmth of his hand, the callous of his fingers, the velvet-black warmth that caressed her skin wherever he touched her.

"Doesn't it feel real to you?" She asked in a whisper, opening her eyes. 

For a moment their eyes met, and she caught her breath at the expression in his dark gaze. He didn't answer, and so she kissed him again, showing him gentleness and warmth and the slow-burning fire that she was sure he felt, too. He made an odd sound, his hand tightening around her face as he drew her closer and kissed her back. He raised his other hand to tangle it in her hair, but then stopped himself. He made a strangled sound and pulled away, his eyes fierce.

"No," he said firmly, and his voice held an iron-coldness she'd not heard before. "No, Daine, it _doesn't_. I won't lie to you. And it's not right."

She bit her lip, a deep flush rising in her cheeks. "But I thought you wanted..." 

She realised straight away that she'd said the wrong thing. He flushed and looked away. His hands fell away from her face as if her skin had burned him, but he didn't answer her. She shrugged off the fur and pulled away from him. Of course it was what he wanted. That was why he was turning her down! Because in his strange, noble head it would make him no different from all the other men. Was that what he thought? She knew she was making up thoughts for him, but they ran rapidly, painfully through her mind as if they were dragged by horses.

The wild creature he'd rescued had only survived because men had wanted her. It was why they hadn't worked her to death in the fields like the other slaves, and why they had sometimes cared for her after they beat her so she wouldn't die. She had survived because they wanted her. And now... now she had survived because Numair had protected her, and he had to tell himself it was for other reasons. Because, morally, he believed that they were wrong. If he acted the same way that they had, then how could he possibly make a stand against them? It wouldn't matter to him that she gave herself to him out of love, and that she'd had no choice with them.

He might not even believe _that_ was true. Who knew what went through his mind?

"It's different." She whispered, but even as the words came out she knew he wasn't listening. She didn't have the words to make him understand. She couldn't break through the wall he'd built in his head, which wouldn't let him touch her because all he would feel under his hands was skin that other men had used before him. She was damaged, and used, and broken, and he couldn't fix her. 

Maybe he didn't even want to try.

"This stops." He said, not looking at her as she turned away. "I shouldn't even have started it, and I'm sorry. But it has to end."

" _I_ started it." She told him, her voice scathing. 

He didn't look up, and she cursed out loud and stood up to walk away. If she'd have looked back she might have seen the raw pain in his eyes as he couldn't help but look around, but she didn't. She bit her lip and clenched her fists and hated both him and herself in equal measure.

888

On the fifth night a thick frost fell, making the ferns into delicate sculptures which were deadly still in the bitter wind. They risked a fire, but didn't dare make it large enough to be seen from any real distance, and even huddled right next to it they could barely feel its warmth. Daine couldn't stop her teeth from rattling, and her fingers were so stiff with cold that she didn't even notice the savage splinter she'd picked up from one of the frozen sticks they were burning. Numair cursed and caught her wrist, seeing the brightness of blood, but even when he pulled the sharp piece of wood from her palm Daine couldn't feel any pain.

She bit her lip and sucked the blood away, her stomach churning in revulsion at the coppery taste of the only thing she'd consumed in days. They hadn't dared risked stealing food from anywhere they passed. An old fur might be mislaid, but food was kept close by in the lean winter months. The game were all hibernating, and although they set some traps there were no animals to catch. They chewed on bark to stop their stomachs from cramping, and drank brackish water from the glacial streams, and both grew thinner.

"We can't go on like this." Numair said gently, blowing on her fingers to warm them up while they waited for the fire to catch. "Not like this. We didn't go through all of that just to end up starving to death in a freezing ditch."

"I'm happy." She said, shivering. He smiled sardonically and held her hands close to the warmth of his chest.

"You can still die when you're happy, Daine. It's no more pleasant than dying when you're sad." He sighed and looked up at the greenish morning sky, then the looming keeps. "If only I had a way to contact... but it's useless."

Daine didn't answer, but tucked her head under his chin and cuddled closer. "I could ask the birds." She said eventually, absently tangling her fingers together with his. He stiffened, and for a moment she thought he was angry with her for touching him, but he let his breath out in a rush and his voice was excited:

"Would that work? Like carrier pigeons?"

"Why not?" She paused to consider her own words, and a slow smile spread across her face. The local birds were all the ragged black ravens that cawed in the leafless trees. They were very different from the docile, fat pigeons she'd seen in messenger towers. "Might scare your friend a little."

"She'd never admit it scared her, even if it did." Numair's voice was suddenly purposeful, and he pulled away, tearing at the edge of his tunic. Daine watched him with wide eyes until he looked up and grinned. "Well, what else are we going to write on? Are you calling them?"

"Now?" Daine swallowed and looked around, hearing the mocking calls of the birds and the pressing thud of her own heartbeat in her ears. "Someone might overhear."

He looked up, eyebrows raised, one hand poised halfway to grabbing a piece of charcoal from the fire. "Can't you call them silently?"

"I wish you'd stop pointing out all the things I can't do." She said irritably. "I'd never point out that you can't even light a fire without burning your fingers."

He ignored that and put his scrap of fabric carefully in his pocket. 

"Try it." He said, gesturing for her to sit next to him. She copied his tailor seat, wondering how meditating would help her talk to someone outside of her own mind. Obediently, she breathed evenly, and when he asked her to call the birds with her mind she tried it. The words stayed trapped inside her own self, echoing in her core and startling the wolf from its dozing.

 _Then open a window._ Numair suggested, leaning nonchalantly against the copper walls with his hands tucked into his belt.

 _You can't be serious._ She had to stop and regain her focus rather than stare at him incredulously. His shade shrugged.

_Well, it's an analogy. I mean that if you think you're trapped then you will be. Magic's all about your control over it, so if you think it's going to stay here, it will. So imagine opening a window, or a door, and shout out of it._

_I think you're going mad._ Daine opened one eye and sighed, then meditated again. 

Fine. So her core was a room... and she had to imagine a window. It was something a child would suggest, not a university trained mage! Still, she fashioned a picture in her mind, and gave it curtains and elaborate scrollwork just because she was irritated, and then thrust the image into her core with impetuous haste.

Her mouth fell open. It appeared, ridiculously flamboyant in the organic world of her mind. Numair laughed and tugged at one of the curtains.

 _Very pretty._ He said, examining the blue fabric. _Did you make these up?_

 _They were my ma's._ Daine suddenly felt sheepish, as if showing him this part of her thoughts was somehow betraying her ma's memory. Still, she had a window now, and she could see through it towards the birds. She took a deep breath, and called to them. This time, the copper magic streamed through the window and sped towards the creatures, who called back mocking greetings.

She gasped and opened her eyes as scores of sharp claws dug into her shoulders and arms. The whole flock had swooped down on her, summoned by that wild stream of copper fire, and were happily roosting on her, and on the ground around her. Numair had one perched on his head, which made her smile.

"Hello," she said quietly to them. They replied in her mind and in her ears, cawing loudly.

"You don't have to speak out loud at all, you know," Numair said, but he was smiling as he held a hand out to the raven on his head and took it down. The bird nattered at him, but let him put it down on the ground.

"Will you carry a message for us?" Daine asked the lead raven. He tilted his head to one side, and then she heard him speak inside her mind- far clearer than any animal voice had been since Cloud. The thought made her both happy and sad at the same time. 

The chain she had worn as a slave had made the people's wild voices sound distorted, sickeningly feverish in her whirling mind. Now they were clearer and Daine knew the People would be able to understand her again too, and not run in terror from her broken flares of magic. She should feel glad, but the thought of Cloud still made her throat close up. She was aware that Numair was watching her with something close to concern, and made herself smile and concentrate on what the birds were saying to her. 

_-A message? Like the fat fluffy birds?-_

"That's right. Hunters have trapped us, and we're asking for help."

_-Are they the humans sneaking up the sun-rising deer path?- The raven asked, ruffling his shoulders in irritation. –They step like heavy cows, and scare away the worms.-_

Daine made a mental note about the incoming soldiers, and explained to the ravens what they needed. They looked interested, since in the winter they didn't care so much where they were as long as there was food. There were no nests to protect, after all. They cawed in laughter at the idea of scaring another human creature, and finally agreed. Daine repeated the directions Numair gave her to the birds, wondering about the places he seemed to know so well, that were just names to her. She wondered who on earth would trust a person living in a place called 'Pirate's Swoop'!

Numair wrote a short message on the piece of fabric, and held it out to her. She tied it carefully around the bird's foot. He swaggered around, wings cocked at a rakish angle for a moment as he showed off his dainty anklet to the other ravens. They cawed in mocking laughter, and then took wing.

"How long will it take them?" Numair asked, watching them go. Daine shrugged, her ears ringing in the sudden silence.

"I don't know where they're going. How far is it?" She asked. He thought for a moment, and repeated a distance back to her. She smiled and counted on her fingers.

"Well, if they don't get too distracted, then perhaps a day to fly there, and another day to fly back. But let's say three days, because they will get distracted!" She smiled, and then remembered herself, and shook her head to clear it. "There are soldiers coming up the deer path to the east. We need to head west."


	16. Feeling Real 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She could see the darkness now, dancing in his eyes and pulsing in his throat. She felt his flesh move under her fingers. Horrified, she opened her fist to see feathers growing and shrinking in front of her eyes and bursting through his skin. When she finally found the courage to lay her fingertips on his cheek his eyes flew open, and she gasped. They were black, bead-like, the eyes of a bird, and they stared at her with savage emptiness.

The note was short, with as many words as possible crammed onto the tiny scrap of paper, but long after they'd both memorised its contents they couldn't help reading it over and over again. It was an address. After it was a short note:

_Ask for Lady Hazelle. She'll be expecting you. Wait. Will join you ASAP – month at most. Glad you're okay! – A._

"It's at the other end of the valley." Daine pointed out, recognising the name of one of the larger towns. "Past the checkpoint."

Numair nodded, folding the scrap of paper into his pocket with clumsy fingers. They'd scouted their end of the valley meticulously, looking for any pass through the mountains or any cave network that they might hide in safely. The single troupe of soldiers had missed them, but many more followed in their footsteps. Their sleep was broken three or four times a night as they had to move away, and they hadn't dared risk another fire. They huddled together for warmth, but each hungry night that passed made that shared warmth grew a little colder. The valley was inescapable, and if the ravens hadn't found them on the fourth day they might have lost all hope. Their hands shook from hunger and weariness, and the cold bit at their bare feet and blistered their skin, but they both laughed hysterically when the sky finally filled with wing beats and the ravens swooped down.

"We can get there over the goat trails." Daine whispered, almost to herself. It was how they'd stayed hidden, climbing along treacherous paths which crumbled under their feet. The soldiers in their armour didn't dare risk it. It would be a long and dangerous hike, but no more dangerous than staying here. Some of the soldier-mages had started blasting rocks from the overhanging cliffs and starting avalanches whenever they heard a twig snap. It was only a matter of time before they were found, too weak to fight, and they would be at those same soldiers' mercy.

They started walking straight away, climbing up the nearest trail and helping each other scale the steeper parts of the mountain side. When they were high enough above the ground that a casual glance wouldn't have spotted them, they caught their breath and started hunting for the nearest animal trail.

It was two days before the soldiers caught up with them, and by then they were so tired that they barely noticed the distant sounds of men shouting to each other. The trail they'd found climbed so high that they had to stop and catch their breath, and combined with their half-starved dizziness they had slowed down a lot more than they realised. Daine was trailing slightly behind, her feet dragging on the loose stones of the narrow path along yet another frozen cliff face, when she heard the voices.

She looked around so quickly she was dizzy, and had to wait for her eyes to clear before she could even see the soldiers. Most of them were on a lower trail, but a few had shed their armour and were climbing up the goat trail behind her. When they realised she'd seen them they froze, and then one of them sent a bolt of pure magic darting towards her. It missed, striking the cliff below her, and for a second she could turn and run. Then, weakened by the blast, the rock crumbled under her right foot. She shrieked as she began sliding down the side of the cliff. Scrabbling wildly at the rocks, she grabbed a trailing bramble and held on, gasping, watching as great chunks of the trail that she had just walked over tumbled down into the valley. Her flailing feet found only a small rock, which wobbled when she put some weight onto it, but held enough for her aching arms to have some rest.

"Help!" She cried, coughing back stinging dust from the whipping wind. "Help me!"

Behind her, the soldiers shouted to each other and pointed at her. The section of path they stood on was secure, but many meters away and much further down, and she couldn't hear what they were shouting. She shut her eyes and tried to climb up the bramble, wincing as the hoary barbs bit into her palms. The stone under her foot crumbled away and she shrieked, falling back a few feet as her arms took all of her weight again.

"Daine!" Numair looked down at her from the next section of the trail. She stared up at him wildly, seeing that even if she climbed up he was too far away to pull her to safety. He was doing something with his hands- something that called the black glitter of his gift, but as she breathed in to ask what she should do a massive bolt of lightning struck the cliff near her head. She screamed and clung on to the bramble with shaking arms, feeling it shudder as rocks fell away. The soldiers shouted again, and she heard the unmistakable sound of laughter.

She swung sideways, letting the bramble take her weight as she reached out to another, slightly out of her reach. Another bolt shook the cliff and her bramble ripped away from the stone, giving her the extra few inches she needed to grab the new one. She leapt for it and clung, gasping, to the new handhold.

The vine was thinner than the old one, and she prayed desperately that it would hold. Her hands spasmed and slipped as they bled, but she hauled herself up with new found strength. This time she found a foot-hold and wedged her toes into it, digging into the cliff with her nails and looking back up.

A third bolt screeched through the air towards her, and she flinched and held on grimly, waiting for the shock wave. This one soared past her with a roaring sound. She opened one eye to see the glimmer of black sparks, shielding her from what would have been a deadly attack.

"Can you climb up?" Numair shouted down, his voice over-quick. She tested the bramble and shook her head, feeling it give. He nodded and leaned down, his voice uncertain "I can pull you up but... I'll have to stop shielding you."

"Do it!" She yelled back. He nodded and started making that strange shape with his hands again. The shield faded, and Daine hugged the edge of the cliff and hoped the soldiers wouldn't notice that she was vulnerable again.

The stone quivered under her foot, and tiny sharp rocks rained down from her upper hand-hold. "Hurry!" she cried, looking around desperately for another handhold in the near-sheer cliff.

"Let go!" He held out a hand to her. She laughed wildly, and heard the soldiers' laughter echo her own hysterics.

"Are you _crazy?_ "

"Let go!"

She drew in a deep breath, shut her eyes, and let go of the cliff. For a stomach-churning moment she fell backwards, and felt the sucking roar of the massive drop at her back. And then she was being held by invisible hands, which gripped her wrists and dragged her upwards. The soldiers shouted, pointed, and another bolt of lightning sped towards her as Numair's hands closed around her wrists, and her feet were suddenly on beautiful, sturdy ground. 

They ran blindly, dragging each other over jagged rockfalls and jumping cracks in the path for miles until, exhausted, they collapsed in the lee of a tiny copse of dead trees.

"Th...thank you!" Daine gasped, her lungs feeling like they were burning. Numair didn't answer, but drew her into his lap and kissed her cheek, the exhausted action oddly tender.

"You frightened me, magelet." He said, his voice a pale shadow of its normal tone. She stiffened at his kiss, not knowing how to respond, and then caught sight of the hand that rested on her arm.

"Numair... your hand!" She grabbed at it, not letting him drag it away. The nails were quite black, the fingertips swollen. Both of their hands were twisted with the cold, and dark with broken veins, but the shapes of his fingers were more pointed than they had been before, and more horribly familiar. The imprint of a feather ran up the back of one hand, following the artery like a deadly promise. "I thought this had stopped!"

"Well, it went away for a while," he said, his voice guarded.

"Why has it started again?" She rubbed at the nails desperately, as if she could simply clean off the curse. A thought made her stop, and her face turned pale. "Was it because you used your magic?"

He didn't answer, but she could see the darkness now, dancing in his eyes and pulsing in his throat. He tightened his hand around hers and shut his eyes, eyelids flickering as his mind raced.

"Go to sleep," she whispered, not knowing anything else that might help. "I'll find food."

"There _is_ no food." There was gentle mockery in his voice, and he rested his head against her shoulder. His voice was quiet, not quite pleading, "Stay with me, Daine."

"Yes," she whispered, and kissed the crown of his head. "Of course."

He drifted into the uneasy sleep of the feverish, and she kept watch, stroking his hair back from his forehead until, after a few hours, the worry-line faded from between his eyes and he began to sleep peacefully. Only then did she let her own eyes slide shut.

In the early hours of the morning she awoke with a start, because the hand that she held had suddenly turned icy cold. Her fingers constricted around it impulsively, and she felt the flesh move under her fingers. Horrified, she opened her fist to see feathers growing and shrinking in front of her eyes, bursting through his skin like growing flowers and retreating into tiny bumps which ran across both hands. Turning, she could see the same pebbling on his neck, shifting and oozing across his throat and his cheeks as cold sweat beaded his forehead, and he twitched in his sleep.

"Numair..." she whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek and stopping, her hand shaking a few inches from his boiling skin. When she finally found the courage to lay her fingertips on his cheek his eyes flew open, and she gasped. They were black, bead-like, the eyes of a bird, and they stared at her with savage emptiness.

"You...you're the hawk?" She asked the black eyes, her voice steadier than she felt. The eyes narrowed, not blinking, but kept staring at her. The arms that held her tightened- not in the affectionate way that Numair did, but holding on to her with grim intent. 

"I won't try to escape," she told it gently, picturing her window in her mind and letting the copper fire stream towards it like she would with any other bird. "You can do what you like. I wouldn't think of stopping you. I'll not be a threat."

The hawk did blink, then, the rest of the face expressionless as those eyes took on a strange, almost confused mask. She slowly took her hand down from Numair's cheek, feeling the hawk's tense shoulders relax a little as she retreated. It can understand me! He said it didn't understand anyone. But it's just the same as any bird.

She took a shallow breath, knowing not to make any sudden moves, and stared back levelly at it. 

_It mustn't see me as prey, or as a threat. If it does that it's fair likely to attack! It's confused now. Better keep it that way._

"Can you speak?" She asked it, and when it didn't respond she tilted her head to one side, asking the question like a bird would. It tilted its own head, its confusion turning to frank curiosity as it studied the strange creature it had trapped. Daine could feel the hands on her back shifting from claws to hands and back again, and knew that Numair must be in there somewhere, behind those beady eyes, fighting the creature. 

Well, it had seen her now. It was curious, but she was in no mood to answer its questions! She made her voice stern, and chose her words carefully.

"Now, this is fair foolish of you, Hawk. See, you can take over and have fun and all that, but there are soldiers looking for us, and they won't know that you're the hawk. They'll think you're the human they're looking for, and they'll kill you, or lock you up again, like _that!_ " she snapped her fingers, deliberately quick, and the hawk flinched back. The claws dug painfully into her back for a moment, but she leaned closer. "I know you didn't like being locked up before. That chain hurt, didn't it?"

The bird breathed out in a hiss, and the claws moved, scoring lines in her tunic. She gasped and arched away from the pain, and one of the claws moved to grip her upper arm. Sharp talons bit into the muscle there as the creature leaned closer, black eyes dead in Numair's empty face.

" _Hurrrrrrt..._ " It hissed, forcing the word through human muscles that it did not know how to use. 

It dragged her so close that she could see red dots in those black eyes, swimming dizzily in the moonlight as the vice-like claws pinched tighter, and tighter, until white hot flashes of pain swam across her sight.

"I'm not your prey." She said coldly, biting the inside of her mouth to keep from crying out. Instead of responding to its attack, she made her voice persuasive and laid every drop her stubborn will into the words.

"I'm not saying you can't have fun, hawk. I just reckon that you might not want to do it now. Who wants to fly in the winter? Now is the time to roost and rest, not peck for pathetic earthworms in the frozen ground."

It paused, and looked around uncertainly, hunching shoulders as if it could ruffle feathers against the winter cold. Daine hid a smile, not knowing if this creature could read the human expression. She had it!

"Give my friend his body back." She ordered, pouring copper fire into every word, and the bird closed its eyes. 

"That's right," she whispered, feeling magic drain from her fingertips into Numair's hands. The feathers melted away, and the claws withdrew from her skin. She collapsed forward, energy still flowing from her like pouring water. "Away... Stay away..." she whispered, and shut her eyes.

888

Numair stirred, shivering in the cold morning air with absolutely no memory of anything that had happened during the night. He couldn't even remember dreaming. 

He looked at his hands and saw that they were human again- swollen, chapped fingers topped with chipped nails. He'd not meant for Daine to see the feather marks that had tattooed them the night before. They usually vanished overnight, and left him with nothing more sinister than a pounding headache. But he felt stronger than ever today. The thought made him frown. He moved to pull the fur tighter around both of them, and paused. Daine barely even stirred at the movement.

"Daine?" he asked, stroking her hair back from her temple. Her eyelashes fluttered, but she didn't respond. Panicking, he sat up straighter so that he could see her properly, inspecting her head for bruises from the rockslide, but she was unharmed.

A thought occurred to him, and he shut his eyes tight and meditated. It took him a few frustrating minutes to calm down enough to even breathe evenly, but when he finally managed to look inside his own core he only needed a second's glance to confirm his suspicion. Dragging himself out of his meditation, he blinked to clear his eyes of the glow of copper fire that once again barricaded the hawk into its cage.

"How are you _doing_ that?" He demanded, genuinely baffled. 

She didn't move, and he sighed and shifted back into a more comfortable position, letting her head fall back limply against his chest. He didn't mind the chance to lie quietly, stroking her hair as he tried to organise his thoughts. Now that he knew she wasn't hurt, just magically drained, his panicking heart slowed and he was content to simply let her sleep. She cuddled closer to him every time she drifted closer to wakefulness, and he felt his heart turn over.

She had been hurt when he'd turned her down. He'd had to force himself not to call her back and apologise. The words had been so logical, so reasonable in his head. They'd sounded harsh and cruel when he said them out loud. She'd flinched away, and he'd seen some of her thoughts, naked in her eyes.

He'd told himself that he'd _had_ to hurt her, to make sure that she wasn't hurt more brutally in the future. In a few years he hoped she'd be happy, and free, and living her own life without people hunting her down. He knew that he had no role in that life. Every time she looked at him she would remember their escape, and the room they'd been locked in, and what had happened to her in that prison. Over time her affection would turn from love into friendliness, and from friendliness into indifference, but she'd still feel obliged to stay with him out of gratitude, or because she felt she owed him.

So he'd had to hurt her. He could almost convince himself that the nonsense thought was true. Yes, he'd had to turn her down. It was only logical, and it was kinder.

And it didn't matter that he was starting to think he was in love with her. 

His initial protectiveness of the strange, ragged stranger had slowly turned into something he'd never thought about before. He'd realised that when he'd pushed her away from him. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to pull her back and kiss her until every confused thought fled from his mind, but still he'd pushed her away. He would rather she was hurt by that than realise that what he had done was a gesture that betrayed how much more he cared about her. 

Better she think he wasn't interested.

His thoughts raced on, and he was just concluding that human beings really were horribly complicated creatures when she sighed, and her eyes opened. She sat bolt upright, her eyes searching his face for a split second, but she relaxed as soon as their eyes met.

"Good morning..." she breathed, relief obvious in her voice. He looked at the sky and raised an eyebrow.

"It's more like afternoon, magelet!" he told her, his voice deliberately dry. She frowned and bit her lip, looking up at the sun and then colouring.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

He didn't answer for a moment, looking down the pass at the town they had to sneak in to. "It's only half a day's walk, and we need to get there after nightfall." He said, voicing one of the plans that had mingled with his spiralling thoughts that morning. "So we don't need to move for a few hours."

She nodded, rubbing at the dark smudges that lined her eyes. "I'm so tired." She admitted, and smiled gratefully when he pulled her close again. "It must have been from climbing that cliff. Sorry."

"You used your magic, didn't you?" 

The sharp breath she took confirmed she'd wanted to hide it from him. He wondered why she was lying to him. Part of him wished he could see her expression, but she was cursed good at hiding her thoughts when she wanted to. He laughed shortly, unable to stop himself sounding curt. "Do you think I can't see into my own magic, little one?"

She twisted her hands together. Her voice was very quiet. "You can... see what I did?"

He nodded, and then realised she couldn't see it. She was staring at her hands, at the ground - at anything that wasn't him.

"Yes," he prompted, and she looked up.

"Could you tell me what it is? I don't know. I wanted something to happen, and then it did, and I couldn't stop it. But I don't know what it was that I did!"

"You don't know?" he drew a sharp breath, and this time his laughter was genuinely amused. "That makes two of us, magelet! Well, what happened, then? I suppose I can give it a guess."

She looked at her hands, twisted together, and then back up at him. "You turned into the hawk." She said quietly, and bit her lip when he flinched.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked, eyes intense. She shook her head.

"No. I spoke to you... to it. Numair, that thing isn't you. You were in there, fighting with it, and it was keeping you trapped. I _spoke_ to it."

He blinked, and looked away. The idea that the hawk was not simply a part of his own mind was something that had never occurred to him. It would mean he wasn't responsible for its actions, but at the same time it would also mean that the thing that had controlled his life for so long was actually living his life for him, using his body as a shell of meat to drag around. And since she had decided that the hawk was someone else...

"You said I didn't hurt you." He pressed, his eyes dangerous, "Did the _hawk_ hurt you?"

She smiled too brightly and changed the subject. "I told it that there was no point playing in the winter. Animals don't like this time of year. I don't blame them." She looked at the iron-grey sky and shivered. "And after a while it went away, but I had to push it, and that's where my magic went. Pushing."

"After a while." He echoed. 

She tried to ignore him again, so he grabbed her shoulders to make her turn and look at him. "Daine, I'm serious..." he started, and then saw that she had turned white at his touch. He took his hand slowly away from her shoulder, and she raised a shaking hand to the bloodstained fabric without looking at him.

"Like I said," She said stiffly. "It was the hawk, not you. So why should I tell you what happened? You weren't even there."

She stood up and picked up the fur, folding it up and tying it across her back. The movement made her reel dizzily for a moment, and she pressed a hand obstinately over her eyes until the crushing weariness subsided. "We have to get down the cliff before nightfall. Let's go."


	17. Feeling Real 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You need to eat, and then sleep." The woman said in a steady, calm voice. "It's all arranged for you. You're _safe_. Your questions can wait, and no-one here will ask you for answers."

A maid opened the side-door furtively, and a beam of warm golden light fell through it and lit up the two vagabonds. She covered her mouth at the sight of them, and waved them through. When the warmth of the room struck her Daine suddenly felt a wave of sleepiness, and had to will her eyes not to slide shut. Even without having used all of her magic she hadn't eaten for nearly a fortnight, and she didn't know if she'd be able to raise the strength to wake up again. 

They had found the house easily enough, but had to spend so much time crouching behind corners and checking for passing townsfolk that it had taken until the early hours of the morning for them to actually reach the peaceful, wealthy-looking street. They had no doubt that if they were spotted by even a single person they would be caught. They were so bedraggled, so frozen and emaciated, that they barely looked human. When they found the house they slipped around to the back gate, past the stables which were built onto the servants' wing of the house, and knocked hesitantly at the kitchen door. It was no wonder the maid had nearly cried out at the sight of them, but they were both so exhausted that they barely noticed her slipping out of the room until she returned.

An old woman rustled into the room behind the maid, her silvery hair gathered into a long braid, and a brocade sleeping robe clutched around her throat. She paused to look at them, but unlike the maid she didn't react past a quick flutter of her eyes. She nodded to the other woman and gestured for them to sit by the fire, tucking her own slippered feet neatly up from the ashes on the floor.

"You need to eat, and then sleep." She said in a steady, calm voice. "It's all arranged for you. You're _safe_. Your questions can wait, and no-one here will ask you for answers." The maid returned with two bowls of thin porridge, and handed them to them. Daine stared at her portion numbly, her brain refusing to recognise it as food.

"Eat, little one." Numair said, seeing her struggle. She looked up at him, and he took her hand and curved her fingers gently around the spoon. "Eat."

The porridge was good, made with rich milk and sweetened with honey, but she could only manage a few spoonfuls. Numair urged her to eat another, but after that she put the bowl down and pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling obscenely full. The woman watched them in silence, and then took hold of the girl's hand. Daine looked at the woman's withered, white, manicured fingers next to her own, grimy and gnarled hands. Mutely, she let the woman lead her out of the kitchen and up a flight of stairs. The whole house was warm, and silent, and the wood-panelled corridors pressed in on her like the urgency of sleep. She didn't remember falling into bed, only an impossible softness, and then darkness.

She had no idea how long she slept for. When her eyes opened she felt strangely empty, as if she'd finished all her allocated sleep for the year, and would never be able to sleep again. Her arm tingled strangely, and when she raised a hand to the claw marks she found a smooth, magically-healed scar. She sat up and looked around the room, seeing the same wooden panels that she remembered from the corridors, and the wide window that was shut tight against the cold. She stared at it, wondering at the colours that shone through the glass. The sky was blue, and the clouds were yellow, and the black shadows of distant birds danced through it.

The door clicked, and a woman stuck her head through. She grinned widely when Daine looked around, and then disappeared. The girl was just thinking about standing up and following her when the woman reappeared, carrying a covered plate and a cup.

"Ah, you're awake!" She said roundly, handing over the crockery. Daine sipped from the cup, tasting the sweetness of spiced milk. The woman smiled approvingly until she drained the whole glass, and then put the plate down on the table. A maddening scent of cinnamon rose from under the cloth. "You can pick at those later." The maid declared. "Missus says you're to get some flesh on your bones, child! But you'd be wise to let your stomach settle first."

She led Daine into a small anteroom the girl hadn't noticed before, which held a large bathing tub. The maid pulled a cord which hung down from the ceiling, and a score of maids brought in pail after pail of steaming water. Daine let herself be washed, still half-drugged with too much sleep. Despite her long sleep she found her eyes sliding shut as she lay in the warm water. The maid hummed cheerfully to herself as she scrubbed at the girl's hair, rinsing it over and over again until the water ran clear. Daine caught sight of the filthy water and flinched, thinking of the elegant bed and the filth that she must have coated it in. When the maid wrapped her in a thick towel and led her back into her room, though, the bed had already been changed by another one of the many maids.

"You get yourself dressed, duck." The maid said, gesturing at some clothes that had been laid out neatly on the clean sheets. Daine touched the soft fabric hesitantly, but by the time she thought to thank the maid she had disappeared.

She pulled the dress over her head first, struggling until she realised that it was held closed with a tiny line of delicate shell buttons. She scowled and yanked it off her head, undoing the buttons until she could tug it over her shoulders, then doing up the fiddly clasps one by one with fingers that were still split with chilblains. Finally, she knotted the matching girdle fitfully around her waist. Part of her was whispering that she'd never worn a dress this fine before in her life, the other part was irritated that the garment was so impractical. It fit her more tightly than the ragged tunics she'd worn in prison, and she felt almost trapped by it. 

She sighed and started to comb her hair, discovering that the covered plate was full of oat biscuits and eating them with growing hunger. Her stomach growled, and even when she'd finished the biscuits she was still ravenous. The dense scent of roasted meat was drifting up the stairs, and she made up her mind to hunt down a proper meal.

Daine was about to leave when she caught sight of something moving in the corner of the room. She gasped and span around, but there was no-one there. There was only a large square of steel polished to a bright shine, the kind of thing she'd seen tucked away in the corners of some of the officials' rooms. She hadn't liked them, then. One man had become two. 

But this one was different. It didn't hold a man, but a woman she didn't recognise. She wasn't a tall woman, and she fit inside the square of metal perfectly. A simple green dress fell from her shoulders in a scooping neckline, gathered by a simple knotted girdle at her waist, where it curved out gently over her slight hips and fell to the floor in soft folds. The tips of bare toes peeked from under that skirt, and it was then that Daine realised that she was looking at her own reflection.

She stared at it, dumbfounded. Did her hair really curl like that? Did it really shine so brightly when it was washed, and fall so far down her back when it was released from its braid? Those grey eyes, so wide as they stared at what must surely be a painting- did they really belong to her? She stepped closer, and wondered at her long eyelashes, raising her fingers to her cheeks to touch every freckle that she never knew existed until that moment.

The creature they'd dressed in rags and paraded in the country didn't recognise this woman. No wonder the farmers and soldiers had mocked her. Was this what she was supposed to look like? Another thought made her blush: was this what Numair had glimpsed, when he called her beautiful?

 _I can't let him see me like this!_ She thought in mild, nonsensical panic, her hands falling away from her face. _I don't look like me anymore!_

There was a soft knock at the door, and she jumped and moved guiltily away from the mirror. It didn't occur to her that the knocker wouldn't just come in until they knocked again, and she realised she had to invite them in. She cleared her throat and made a nonsense sound, because she had absolutely no idea what the right words might be.

The maid bustled in with a bundle of clothes over one arm and something held in her other hand. She put the clothes down on the chest at the end of the bed and then turned around, stopping short as she finally caught sight of the girl. Daine looked down at her feet, humiliated, and waited for the woman to laugh at her, or leave.

"I've brought you some shoes, miss." The woman said suddenly in a warm, bossy voice. "Soft shoes, they are, for dancing. Herself asked that I bind your feet up for you first, seein' as how I'm a healer." She clicked her tongue against her teeth when Daine obediently sat down on the edge of the bed and raised her skirts, revealing her broken and gnarled feet. "Aye, that'll take a bit of work, duck. There's only so much the gift can do after years of... well, that's all best left in the past, pet. But not to worry! We have time, and patience, and best of all..." she winked and pulled out a pot, "We have Auntie Bennitte's best balm, don't we?"

Daine nodded mutely, watching Bennitte smoothing the thick paste onto her feet. It was cool, and tingled strangely at first, but when the woman wrapped soft bandages around it the ointment began to emit a soft warmth which made her wriggle her toes in delight. Bennitte smiled and slipped the dancing shoes over the bandages.

"Have you never worn shoes before, miss?" She asked when Daine hesitantly put her weight on the soft soles. The girl shook her head, and then shrugged. She supposed she must have, when she was a child, but she couldn't remember...! Her feet felt as warm as if she'd curled them up under her blanket on a summer's night, and she couldn't remember them ever feeling this comfortable. It was as if the clouds had come down from the sky and wrapped themselves around her toes! She smiled and thanked the woman, who grinned widely at the single word.

"Not used to strangers, are you duck?" She didn't wait for an answer, but bobbed a curtsey and turned to leave. "Well, you just remember Auntie Bennitte, for like me or not I'll be here with you twice a day!"

The shoes did the trick. Daine didn't want to be seen, but she couldn't sit alone in her room when every step made her smile in wonder. She opened the door carefully and slipped through, looking for the main hall. The place looked different in daylight. The wooden halls that had seemed so dark and close the night before, now seemed warm and cosy against the frosty winter sunlight. Fires roared in large fireplaces in the hallways, so that no cold could creep in through the doors, and although for a noble's house the place was small, everything in it was elegant and beautiful to Daine's eyes. She stumbled a few times when her shoes brushed against the thick rugs, and ended up holding on to the stair banister for support. The combination of shiny wooden stairs and the slippery cloth shoes might defeat her, but she wouldn't surrender without a fight!

"Do you need some help, miss?" She looked back along the corridor towards the voice and there was a sharp intake of breath. "Daine? Is that you! You look..!" Numair collected himself and managed to look nonchalant when he sauntered towards her, but he couldn't stop his face from breaking into a grin when he looked her up and down.

"Don't laugh at me," she said darkly, looking away. He laughed, and then realised she was being serious and took her hand.

"Laugh at you? Daine, you look beautiful." He said, his voice sincere, his eyes honest. She flushed and looked at her feet, and wondered how far she might be able to run in these shoes. He picked up on her embarrassment and leaned in conspiratorially. "Don't worry magelet, I won't say anything if you don't want me to. But I think other people might notice, too!"

"They don't know what I'm supposed to look like." She muttered. He opened his mouth to retort to that, and then shrugged.

"Can't you walk in those shoes?" He asked instead, gesturing at the soft brown slippers. She coloured and hid them under her skirts, and then realised she was being foolish and nodded. He grinned. "Liar. I saw you arguing with the stairs."

"This is so stupid." She said, humiliated, and sat down on the top step to start untying the laces on one of the shoes. "I'd rather have broken feet than a broken neck, no matter what the lady says."

"Luckily, it's not a choice you'll have to make." The man said lightly, picking her up easily. She gasped and clung to him, instinctively made nervous by the height of him next to the steepness of the stairs. He waited for her to relax, and carried her downstairs. At the bottom of the flight she expected him to let her go straight away, but he hesitated and held her a little more closely.

"Perhaps I shouldn't put you down," he joked, but the words seemed a little forced. "Looking like that, I might never get you back!"

"Of course you would!" She said without thinking, and then reddened. Their argument was never far from her mind, and if he was just being playful she didn't want to ruin it by reminding him of the things he'd said. She really wanted to kiss him at that moment, but she wouldn't, because she knew it was forbidden. But she wanted him to know that he was important, that she wasn't some flighty girl who ran off with strangers because of a pretty green dress. She rested her forehead against his, and looped her arms around his shoulders, and smiled when his arms tightened around her back.

If nothing else, she thought, it can be like it was in the prison. Before it got complicated. No-one could object to that, not even him!

"Daine..." He started, his voice quiet, "When I said..."

Someone cleared their throat loudly, and they both looked around with a start. A manservant waited to direct them into the hall, and had obviously felt the need to interrupt. The girl wanted to slap him. She looked at Numair enquiringly, but the moment had passed, and whatever he'd started to say had danced away unsaid.

"Is your shoe tied on properly?" The mage asked. His voice was playfully over-solicitous for the benefit of the servant. Daine nodded, and he smiled and set her neatly on her feet. "Let me know if you have any more trouble with the stairs."


	18. Feeling Real 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are not the only thing our friends find of interest in this little valley of ours."

"Alanna will be here in a few weeks." Lady Hazelle sipped the last of her wine gracefully, and a servant rushed forward to refill the goblet.

Daine had to stop herself from staring, not knowing how to react to the opulent dining hall, the dainty food, and the army of servants who seemed able to read their mistress's mind in a split second. The lady had such quiet self-assurance that even the usually-confident Numair was taken aback, and both the guests listened in silence to her speak. The lady seemed used to that, and recited information she'd read in Alanna's letter in a soft, cultured tone.

"We're very grateful..." Numair started, and then bit off his words when the lady held up a hand.

"Yes, yes. And I am glad to help. There, we've finished that whole conversation! Now, spare me your compliments, please, they bore me."

Daine hid a smile and ate another spoonful of stew. She knew her stomach would object later to all this rich food, but she couldn't help but try everything. She found she liked the lady more with every sardonic word she spoke. She still couldn't make herself speak to her, mind, but it had only taken half an hour before she could stop staring at her plate and make herself eat. The lady didn't exactly ignore her, but she was distant enough that Daine didn't feel like she was being watched and judged with every bite.

"So, what else did Alanna say?" Numair asked, leaning his head on his hand. He'd been awake longer than Daine, and had apparently eaten before this meal, since he didn't eat as ravenously as his friend. Still, his eyes were a little over-tired, and he picked at his bread as he spoke. Lady Hazelle carefully moved a coil of her steel-grey hair behind her ear, where it blended with the perfectly coiffed ringlets.

"Well, some of it doesn't bear repeating, as you can probably imagine. I declare that she spends more time around soldiers than in polite company!"

"But don't you know her through George?" Daine didn't understand why Numair's question made the lady redden and then laugh, but it seemed to break through some of the old lady's formal ways.

"Well, that's another story, my dear." She picked up her wine again and tapped her fingernail against the glass. "He's a naughty boy, that one, but his little games certainly distract one from the tedium of watching oneself become ancient." She put the glass down, wine untouched, and smiled. "I fear that I cannot show you the letter, Master Salmalin, because you are not the only thing our friends find of interest in this little valley of ours."

"Understood." Numair smiled, seemingly perfectly comfortable with the strange, courtly conversation, although his words were mockingly exaggerated when he replied. "Perhaps, then, a paraphrase would suffice?"

The lady raised her finely-plucked white eyebrows at Daine, who choked back a laugh. Hazelle winked unexpectedly, and then took a breath and turned back to the mage.

"She begins by explaining your plight. She vouches for you, and she says that your word is good enough to trust Mistress Daine, too. Do you have a surname, dear?"

Daine reddened at the question, and looked away. The lady seemed not to notice, and carried on.

"The next part was rather more emphatic. I was explicitly directed to, and I quote, 'find out what that idiot's been doing for all these years' and, further, enquire why you have not contacted your friends before this. I confess myself curious about these same points, but I will not press you for answers."

"That's kind of you," Numair started weakly, but the lady held up a hand to stop him.

"Not, you understand, because I do not wish to know what you will say. It is merely that I will enjoy watching Alanna ask those questions almost as much as I will enjoy hearing your answers."

"...thank you." The man's voice was dry.

Daine wondered what they were talking about. It seemed like some private joke they were sharing, but she couldn't help thinking it was making Numair uncomfortable. A servant took her emptied bowl away and replaced it with some kind of milk and millet pudding. The steam smelled of honey, but she found that it made her sleepy, not hungry. She yawned and rested her head in her hands, not caring that her elbows were rudely planted on the table, and watched the others speak with sleepy fascination.

"In the meantime," Hazelle was saying, "You will both stay here as my guests. My... hm. My distant cousin, I think. Yes, and a great-niece. There will be a few formal dinners, I'm afraid, but the people here are tiresomely dull. You can smile and nod your heads, I'm sure, and they'll be convinced that you are one of their set. My men tell me that the soldiers are scouring the valley looking for a pair of vagabonds." She laughed suddenly, and it was almost a cackle. "Well, by the time I'm through with you, they'll be sipping fine wine in your company and apologising for the curfew! We'll call you Leto. You'll be Annette." She nodded at Daine, who blinked at the sudden change in conversation.

"Leto? Really?" Numair laughed, and the old lady smiled back.

"I thought you might know what it means. The fun is in hiding secrets right under their noses, isn't it, my dear?"

"Yes ma'am, but if it's going to put us in danger..." he started, and Daine yawned. She didn't know what the word meant, she just knew the fire was warm, and her stomach was full, and her feet were starting to ache in the unfamiliar shoes. She saw a servant lean down to whisper into Hazelle's ear, and the woman looked up sharply.

"It seems that Bennitte is ordering you to bed, little Annette. She's determined to mother you! I apologise for keeping you up so late. Give your great-aunt a kiss goodnight, and be off with you!"

Daine stood up and walked around the table sleepily, and as she leaned down to kiss the lady's papery cheek she felt a rush of genuine affection for the woman. She'd let perfect strangers into her house, treated them like honoured guests, and was calmly planning how to hide them in her own home. Hazelle raised her cheek for the kiss and smiled gently at her, her wrinkled eyes showing bright good humour.

"Come and see me tomorrow." She said, catching hold of Daine's elbow before she could leave. "I think you're someone I'd like to get to know better. Just us girls, eh?" She flicked her eyes at Numair, and then grinned widely when Daine couldn't help reddening. "Yes, I think we'll find each other quite entertaining, dearest little Annette."

The lady brushed her own rouged lips against the girl's cheek, and then let go. She flicked her fingers out, and Daine realised Bennitte was standing beside her, arm ready to escort her from the room. She hadn't even heard the woman come in.

 _This place is bizarre._ She thought as they left.

888

Daine longed for the black dreamlessness she had felt before. Anything would be better than this. She twisted in the too-soft sheets and felt them wrap around her legs, trapping her, making it impossible for her to run. The red glow of the warm, banked fire became a baleful eye in her nightmare, which grinned and scowled at her in equal measure. She held out her hands to stop it, but all she could do was block out the light. When she lowered them and tried to slip back into peaceful sleep, the red eye returned.

It was the early hours of the morning before she finally gave up, gasping as she escaped the clutches of yet another vile demon. The house was silent, and warm, and as much as she gasped for air she felt like she was drowning. Throwing open the window didn't help, because the cold night was still and breathless, and horribly silent. She missed the sounds of marching feet. She missed the distant maniacal laughter. She missed the black exhaustion of being starved and overworked. She missed the things which had sung her to sleep for so many years. 

And she wondered why she was only missing them now. She was wondering that, staring at the grey-orange night storm clouds, when she felt the twisting warmth that was her memory of him, and realised that what she missed the most was having Numair's arms around her, keeping her safe and warm. The nightmares had never been able to touch her. Not once. 

She turned around without even thinking about it, ready to leave. Would he even want her, now? He had his own soft bed and warm fire. He was probably sleeping peacefully, dreaming of his beautiful palaces and loving friends while she stood sleepless by the window. And yet, she knew that wasn't right. The part of her that was embraced by his black magic felt unsettled, listless, and she could hear the copper magic she had given him calling out to her sleeplessly. 

Perhaps she just longed for him too much, and she was imagining it... but she found her way to his room without even thinking about it, drawn by the glitter of their gifts, and opened the unfamiliar door with the sure knowledge that it was the right place.

She crept into the dark room, and stood uncertainly at the side of his bed. He was sleeping, but very uneasily, with the soft pillows thrown onto the ground and his head resting on his arm. When a floorboard creaked under her foot Daine winced, and his eyes flew open. They adjusted to the light, and took in her thin silhouette standing there.

"Daine," he said sleepily, "Is that you? Are you alright?"

She opened her mouth to answer him, and the words came out in a tiny voice she barely recognised. "I can't sleep. I keep dreaming... they're coming to get me... and I'm... I'm all _alone_... and I don't know what to do."

He blinked at her, and held out a hand without another word. She took it and lay down next to him, like she had for all the nights in the prison, and all the nights in the mountains. She rested her head on his shoulder and felt his arm curve around her, and felt the traces of her nightmare drift away like harmless smoke. She sighed and shut her eyes, simpler dreams already lifting soft wings towards her. Numair kissed her forehead sleepily and shut his own eyes, and when he fell asleep his own dreams were deep and peaceful.

_Daine._

The voice pulled her from the warm darkness and she moaned and turned her face away, trying to sink back into that quiet, safe haven.

"Daine, sweetling, wake up." Something moved from her waist and she felt pressure against her head. It took her a moment to register that it was a hand, stroking her hair back from her eyes. Grey light fell across her closed eyelids, and she raised a hand to cover her eyes.

"...u-mair?" She managed, confused.

"That's right. Wakey wakey!" She could hear the sadistic humour in his voice. She glared at him from under her hand, forcing her sleepy eyes open and realising how weak the pre-dawn light was.

"'s really _early,_ Numair! I migh' have to hurt you."

"You'd have to actually wake up to do that." He retorted drily. When she lowered her hand, still wincing at the weak light, he was smiling. "There, that's better."

"So, why 'm I awake?" Daine asked the grudging question, rubbing her eyes until they felt like they might actually stay open.

"I thought we should talk, while everyone else is still asleep." He hesitated, and she stopped rubbing her eyes to look sidelong at him.

"Well, c'n I go back to sleep after?" She muttered. He smiled, amused enough to lose his pensive look, and nodded. She smiled back, and rolled onto her side so she could see him without having to crane her neck. "S'ms fair. What's wrong?"

"What do you think of Lady Hazelle?" He asked. Daine blinked, surprised, and wondered what he meant. The lady had seemed friendly enough to both of them the night before, and generous to a fault.

"Did she say something to you after I went to bed?" She asked, bewildered. He shook his head, the hesitation returning to his expression as he chose his words.

"I thought that... because of who George is, and... and how close we are to the border, that..." He shut his eyes in frustration for a moment, and then started again. "I should have told you before we arrived, but for all I knew she could have been one of Alanna's friends from court. I wasn't expecting her to be as deeply involved..." He stopped again and smiled sardonically at himself, and the look of absolute confusion that was written across Daine's face. 

His words became blunt. "Magelet, she's a spy. She's built up a network here. She's not asking us questions because she already _knows_ the answers."

 _That explains all the double talk at dinner._ Daine thought, remembering thinking she'd just been too tired to make sense of their conversation. Still, it didn't change anything.

"So?" The girl frowned, "She's helping us. Why should we care what else she does? It's not our business."

"Because... how will we repay her, Daine?" When she didn't answer, he turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, as if he could see his worries mapped out on it in shining inks. "Something's going on here, and it's something big. If it wasn't then Hazelle could smuggle us out of the valley in a few days, and Alanna could meet us in Tortall. Why would Jon let her risk coming to a fortified city in the middle of the Gallan border?"

"Galla's not at war with Tortall." Daine pointed out, wondering if she'd missed something in the years she'd been locked up.

"No. But something's going on. I'm sure of it." He sighed and tugged at his nose, thinking. "Well, perhaps I'm being dramatic, but either way... if you want to leave, we can."

She couldn't believe her ears. "Leave! Why?"

He looked at her for a long moment, a line between his eyes. "Daine, if something happens in this valley, like an uprising, how will the officials respond?"

"They'll send out the soldiers." She said automatically, and then added more slowly, "And then the mages..."

"Right. And then someone who knows how the mages think, and how the prison works, would be beyond value. They'd be used as a weapon by one side, and a target by the other." He finished pointedly. 

She paled and looked away, wondering why it had taken so long for her to understand. Of course. She knew the layout of the keeps, down to every last corridor. She knew which mages were locked up there: what they could do, and what they had done. She knew... she shuddered... she knew every one of the officials.

Numair reached out to her when he saw her whiten, but the officials faces were so clear in her mind that she flinched away. Of course. Why would anything be different?

"They want to use me." She said flatly.

"Not like that." The man said softly, not trying to touch her again. "Hazelle's a good person, Daine. But you have to see that there's more at stake here than just us. I didn't mean to scare you, I... I just meant that you should know what might happen."

"And you already knew." Her voice was soft, distant. "You _knew._ You knew all about it."

"How would I know, Daine? I'm just surmising from current..."

"Surmising." Daine's voice grew even quieter, but she cut off his words instantly. "Surmising. Clever word. It means thinking, doesn't it? Yes, that's what it means. It suits you. Lots of clever thinking, all the time. Thinking too much. When did you start? You told me you planned to be taken in to the prison. Did you plan to take me out of it? With your friends conveniently waiting to take you in?"

"What?" He blinked, "Of course I didn't... I thought that you..."

"More _thinking_." She sat up suddenly and looped her arms around her knees, not looking at him. "I didn't run away just so I could become someone else's toy. I don't care about Galla or Tortall or spies or anything. Can't I just have a life that's mine? Or do I always have to belong to someone else? Is that how your real world works, Numair?" She rounded on him suddenly, her eyes burning. " _Is_ it?"

"I didn't plan any of this." He said impatiently. "It could all just be a guess. I just wanted to make sure you had time to think about what you might want to do, if..."

"Do?" She laughed tearfully and waved a hand towards the window. The dawn light was spreading slowly over the valley, blocked by the immense cliffs. "What else can I do? Tell me, because I'm fair curious! What else _is_ there?" 

He was silent for a fraction too long. Daine bit back tears. She had hoped with all her heart that he would have an answer, because she didn't know it herself. How could she? She'd been locked away from the world for so long that now she had no place in it. She didn't understand it. The thought that he had known that long before they'd even escaped from the fort made her soft voice so bitter she could taste it, like acid, on her tongue.

"You came into my life talking about palaces, and real people, and freedom. You must have thought I was such a fool, believing every word. Trusting you, when you told me that they had to pay for what they did to us... oh, I believed you. I wanted to fight them. I would have... but you didn't want to put a knife into my hand, did you? That was never the plan. I'm just another weapon your friends can use against them. I'm back in another cage. I guess you _surmised_ that, too."

"Then why would I ask you if you wanted to leave?" He asked, cutting her tirade off. She rolled her eyes, knowing she was being childish but not caring.

"There's nowhere for me to go. You know that. I don't have anywhere. I don't... I don't have _anyone._ " She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, angry at herself for showing emotion. "Oh, let them use me. Why do I even care? It seems to be my lot in life. But please, for the love of all the gods, please stop lying to me. Even the officials never did that. Either tell me your plans or keep me in the dark, but stop pretending that you care about me. And don't ask about what I want to do. It hurts too much."

He was white, his normally dusky skin looking almost blue in the winter light. He opened his mouth to say something, and then looked away. Swallowing several times, he reached out to touch her shoulder, his voice shaking. "But, Daine..."

"Don't touch me!" She jerked away from him and whirled, her eyes furious. "What makes you think you can do that? You touch me one moment, and push me away the next! It's cruel! What gives you the right to do that to me? I'm not your slave."

"No, you're not a slave at all, now." He said, his voice suddenly detatched, icy. "Apart from inside your mind. You'll lash out at me, but you'd still rather let people use you than think of your own path."

"Says the man who's controlled by a _bird_." She retorted, and instantly regretted it. 

They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment, and then Daine stood up and ran out of the room. Tears burned her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Not even when she was back in her own room, staring at the abandoned fire which had fallen into cold ashes. She sank down with her back against the varnished wood of the door, and let the anger slip from her eyes into her heart. 

It hurt. It hurt so much that she felt it burn. It hurt so much that she wanted to rip her heart out from her chest and hurl it far away. And that was his doing, too. He'd shown her how to feel again, and like a lovestruck fool she'd believed he loved her back. She must have looked so pathetic. She curled her hands into fists, and felt her nails bite into her palms.

"I hate you." She whispered viciously, and felt the words flow from her mind in black-tarnished copper fire.


	19. Feeling Real 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Will I always be a slave to you?_

"That's a funny place to sleep, duckling!"

Daine opened her eyes blearily, wondering why they were stinging. Then she remembered that she'd cried herself into darkness. She couldn't have slept for more than an hour or so before the maid found her, but she ached as if she'd been lying on the floor all night. Embarrassed, she scrambled to her feet and winced as blood returned to her legs.

Bennette peered closely at her, seeing the red skin and tear traces under her eyes, but didn't say anything. She washed the girl in the same companionable chatter as the day before, dressed her feet, and left her to dress herself. Daine pulled on the warm blue woollen dress numbly, feeling like she should be doing something, but not having any idea what that something might be. When she'd told Numair that there was absolutely nothing else she could do, she hadn't been trying to be dramatic- it was true. She gritted her teeth and tied the girdle around her waist, yanking the thongs so tightly her fingertips went white.

Even if she wanted to leave, to choose her own path- so what? She had no skills, no money, no way out of this cussed valley! She was so confused and angry that frustrated tears welled in her eyes again.

 _I don't understand! What does he expect me to do?_ She thought, and pressed her hands to her stomach. She thought she'd still be full from the night before, but hunger pangs had started darting sharply across it.

_He's in the kitchen._

She knew it with the same certainty that she'd known where his room was, last night. Then, she'd used their magical link to find him, to run into his arms. Today she shivered and waited, wanting more than anything else to avoid him. The strange floating confusion in her mind was surely written so clearly in her grey eyes that he'd be able to see it. The thing that enslaved her. The thing he'd accused her of. She didn't know how to hide it from her eyes, but she could at least hide from him.

The door clicked open, and she jumped. Her first thought was to hide, but it wasn't the lanky mage who stepped through the door, but Bennette. She smiled a wrinkled greeting and held something out- a sweet bread roll, filled with honey and sprinkled with sunflower seeds. The cook, it seemed, was taking her mission to fatten up the half-starved girl quite seriously. 

"Get that in you, pet." Bennette said, smiling when the girl wolfed it down. "Aie, easy there! There's plenty more food where that came from, and it won't try to escape from you, you know! But you're right to hurry." She fetched a thick pair of leather boots from a chest and laced them onto Daine's feet. The girl swallowed the last of the bread and lifted a foot uneasily. Her legs felt far too heavy.

"You're going out. Riding. You can ride, pet? Herself has asked that you ride out with her."

 _Outside?_ Daine couldn't stop the look of horror crossing her face. She might have expected the maid to laugh at her expression, but the woman sighed and patted her shoulder.

"Aye, it gets easier. She has some strange whims, duckling, but she does know what's best. I've never known her put a foot wrong. Or a hoof. Besides, you might like this one." The sky-blue eyes twinkled for a second. "There's a party tonight, you see. She wants to get you looking like a proper lady and... ooh, I thought you'd be _happy!_ Don't look so scared!"

Half an hour later, after three attempts to mount the dainty mountain pony, Daine was too irritated at the stupid dress to feel nervous. Lady Hazelle was looking regal and assured on a silver mare, and smiled a greeting to her "niece" in between directing servants towards certain areas of the market to buy supplies for the banquet. Daine was glad that the woman was too busy to pay her much attention; now that she knew Hazelle was a spy, she watched her with a stunned fascination.

Every word the woman said to her own people was deliberate, direct, but as soon as another noble greeted her she would become vague and simpering, or mysterious, or simply more vacant. There wasn't a single person that she spoke to the same way as another, and none of them seemed to notice it. Years of playing the games of the court had trained Hazelle in the kind of cunning that street con-men spent their lives perfecting. The more she watched the woman, the more Daine realised that Hazelle wasn't just an expert at the game: she loved playing it, too.

"Well, that seems to be everything." Daine jumped as the lady abruptly turned and started talking directly to her. "Shall we go, my dear?" Then, when Daine still hesitated, Hazelle's eyes narrowed playfully. "Annette, you must really stop this silly sulking. People will think you can't speak at all! Your father was just the same. Pshaw, I'll ask you again. Shall we proceed?"

"Yes Auntie." Daine mumbled, so nonplussed that speaking aloud seemed almost easy. 

Hazelle flashed her a bright smile, and then nudged her horse into a trot. They peeled away from the army of servants, with only a single pair following them. When she looked sidelong at the two men, they were laughing and joking with each other. It was only when Daine looked more closely that she saw the seasoned weapons hidden under their clothes. She bit her lip and paid attention to her pony. The animal was docile, quiet, peacefully following the mare and chewing absently at her bit.

They dismounted by a string of elegant buildings, made of the same grey stone that ringed the valley. Unlike the poorer parts of town, these buildings had carved the stone into intricate patterns. One of them had the shape of a tailor's sign hewn into its door, and when Hazelle strode towards the entry it swung open as if by magic.

"My lady!" The man who had opened the door fawned. "You're here to pick up tonight's attire, yes?"

"My dear Ten." Hazelle smiled, the edges of her eyes crinkling, and gestured behind her. "I have a small, niggling thing troubling me. And I thought- who might help me! And my answer, was, of course..." she gave him her hand, "...my favourite tailor."

"Flatterer." The man twinkled back, and then glanced at Daine. The girl hung back uneasily, and then remembered she was supposed to be a visiting noble. She raised her chin and stepped forward.

"It's freezing, standing out here." She said. Her voice came out quiet, but sounded much more confident than she felt. The tailor blinked, and then bowed them both into his shop. Hazelle laughed and tucked Daine's arm into her own, patting her wrist and then resting her hand over it, so that the girl's nervous trembling was hidden.

"My great-niece decided to visit me unexpectedly. So unexpectedly, that she forgot to pack a dress! I won't have you wearing that ratty pink thing, no matter what you say, and don't you dare argue with me, miss!" She rounded on Daine, suddenly fierce, and then sighed dramatically. "Ten, you see what trials I am forced to suffer! Will you help me? If anyone can make a dress worth seeing by tonight, then I'm sure it's you."

"Well..." the man hesitated, and then nodded. "She'll have to stay for a few hours, mind."

"Well, Annette, it will serve you right." Hazelle looked around distractedly, and then turned back. "Ten, I heard that Lord Parsey had an appointment with you. I do hope we won't be taking you away from him?"

"He is running a little late, it seems..." The tailor began, and then stopped when his assistant showed in another customer. Daine felt her blood run cold, and had to clutch at Hazelle's arm with suddenly numb fingers. The woman gave her a warning look, and then her fake smile returned to her face as she looked up at the man Daine only knew as an official.

"Lord Parsey," Hazelle said, and exchanged a few pleasantries with the man, who answered them with the same distant decorum. Daine heard none of it- only the panic roaring in her ears, and the echo of her heartbeat as it raced. She forced herself to show none of it on her face, to look distractedly at the shining bolts of fabric and not at his face. She expected him to recognise her at any moment, but his eyes slid over her with little interest.

"Miss?" One of the assistants bowed to her, and then indicated a selection of fabrics. "We have laid out these for you to choose from. We're sorry we cannot offer more, but these are the fabrics we feel we can prepare by tonight..."

Daine let his voice wash over her like warm water. She smiled at the man. He blushed, which surprised her, and then he started speaking again. It was something about each cloth, but Daine already knew which one she would choose. It was a soft blue-grey, the same colour as the eyes of the woman she'd seen in the mirror. When she touched it, the fabric slipped through her fingers, and when it moved it caught the light in a shimmer of icy blue.

"This one," she whispered. The clerk bowed again and whisked it away, promising to return with a tape measure.

"Annette." Hazelle appeared by her shoulder, her voice lowered even though the room was now empty. "Ten's showing Lord Parsey out. Do you know him?"

Daine nodded, swallowed, and then looked directly into the woman's eyes for the first time. There was no confusion, no question in the old woman's expression, and no apology. "You _knew_ I would."

"You did very well. When there are more of them, tonight, you won't be so overwhelmed. We must face the unexpected." Hazelle clicked her tongue against her teeth and looked up at the ceiling. "Yes, if we are used to being surprised then the things we can prepare for will seem much easier. It's a hard lesson to learn."

"You should have warned me." The girl ran a hand through her hair in agitation, her heartbeat starting to return to normal, but instead of agreeing the lady shook her head.

"If you'd come across him in the street, would there have been a warning in advance?" Without waiting for an answer, she leaned in closer. "Tell me, is he the leader?"

"No." Daine remembered the man deferring to others – other men whose faces had no names. "He commands the north wing. With the... the older prisoners. I don't think anyone else wants to do it. He... he..." Her voice trailed off, but her thoughts raced on unbidden.

_He smelled stale, like the ashes of ancient memories drifted from the senile prisoners to him, and he always spoke of death. Always, even to me. They withered away in front of his eyes, and he just didn't care. He played cards with the guards and ignored his wards. Their minds had gone. He was supposed to care for them, but he didn't care if it was their age or their sickness or starvation that took them. He just let them rot._

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, unable to say anything else out loud. Lady Hazelle rested her hand briefly on the girl's shoulder, and her quiet voice was sincere.

"That's all you need to tell me. I won't ask any more. Thank you."

888

The house was barely recognisable by the time Daine returned to it. The two guards had escorted her back, and their laughter was so infectious that by the time they made it back to the stables Daine's dark mood had almost gone. She felt a slight flutter in her stomach when she crossed the courtyard, wondering if a certain lanky mage might be looking out of a window... but when she glanced up, the eyes of the house were all shuttered. Amber candlelight was already glowing through the cracks.

It was a huge banquet, judging by the number of people that arrived even as Bernette was helping her to get ready in the new dress, and another maid was doing something strange to her hair that seemed to involve yanking it away from her scalp so hard it stung. Daine listened to the clatter of arriving horses and soon lost count. When she came downstairs, helped by the maid, the ground floor was seething with people.

"There's a dance before dinner." Bernette told her. "Try to look shy rather than terrified, and remember you can duck away any time you like. We'll be watching out for you."

Duck away! When there were so many people that they weren't human any more. They were a seething mass of silk and satin and perfume and laughter. It was beautiful and overwhelming. Daine realised she couldn't make out the officials that she knew were there, because as soon as she thought she might recognise someone, they were swallowed up in a gavotte, or a reel, or swept away towards the mead. She found a chair resting in a quieter corner and sat down, watching the dancers.

How many of their smiles were real? They seemed so artificial, with their glittering jewellery and gilded eyes, that she didn't trust a single one of them. She sighed and kicked her feet against the polished floor, glad, at least, that no-one would ask her to dance. These were the sort of people the prison guard had been talking about, who would be shocked at his sister walking alone with her beau. They wouldn't dream of asking a stranger to join hands with them. Hypocrites. She was guessing exactly _how_ different they would be behind closed doors when a shadow fell across her, and a hand was held out.

She was going to shake her head, and then remembered that she was expected to speak. 

"I don't want to dance with you." She told him, her voice distant.

"It will look strange if you don't." Numair kept his hand out patiently, but there was a warning note in his voice. "I can guide you through this next one. It won't look like you don't know how to dance."

"I know how to dance." She remembered, vaguely, some country dances from when she was a child. Those coarse steps were very different from the slow, graceful way these nobles moved, but it was still a dance. "I said I don't want to dance with _you._ "

"How else will I get a chance to apologise?" He demanded, keeping his voice low with an effort. She looked up in surprise, meeting his eyes for the first time, and saw enough to make her look away in quick embarrassment. "Dai... Annette, you can't keep avoiding me. Please, let me talk to you. Just... dance with me. A few minutes, and then you can ignore me for the rest of the week if you need to. But give me this one dance."

His hand hadn't moved. She bit her lip, and then reached up abruptly and took it. His face lit up in a genuine smile, and he helped her to her feet. Daine distracted herself by wondering why women wore these dresses which meant they couldn't even stand up properly without someone helping them. She guessed it made them feel protected, or some such nonsense. It made her want to slap the dressmaker.

For all her boasts that she could dance, Daine was relieved when the lutes started playing slowly: it was the kind of music that even the most sophisticated dancers simply seemed to move to, and not really dance. Numair kept hold of her hand and held her waist with his other hand, waiting for her to copy the other dancers and rest her own on his shoulder before they started moving. After the first few terrifying moments Daine found she could relax and think about other things than the likelihood of tripping over her own feet.

"See?" Numair whispered, smiling, "It's not so bad."

She almost smiled back until she remembered she was angry, and the expression fell from her eyes. She looked away quickly, but felt his hand tighten around her own for a moment.

"I really am sorry, you know." He said quietly. She didn't answer, her eyes still fixed on the other dancers' feet. Shiny silk shoes which whispered over the polished floors. They were like the shoes in the stories he'd told her about Carthak. In real life, they were scuffed from dancing and stained with age.

"Will you be sorry the next time?" She asked, hearing the words in her mind as well as in her voice and knowing he could hear them too. Why even bother to speak? She asked the question with her mind, and felt it dance away in copper fire. _Will I always be a slave to you?_

"No, oh no," He whispered, and then she could hear his reply in her mind, laced with black fire: _It was a horrible thing to say. I was angry, and I wasn't thinking._

_But you still said it. Even if you were angry, it doesn't mean it wasn't true. You're right. I can't do anything except what I'm told to do. I don't know how to be any other way. That's why it hurt. Because you were right._

Why were the words so honest? It was like being inside her own core. She couldn't hide from the truth in her mind-voice any more than she could disguise the raw pain in each word. Numair didn't answer for a moment, biting his lip as he glanced at their interlocked hands.

"Let me teach you." He said, finally. "We have a few weeks. If you would like that, I'm sure Lady Hazelle wouldn't object to a little less of our company!"

"Teach me... what?" She asked, baffled. Given their conversation, she half expected him to say basket-weaving, or fishing... something practical that she could learn to make a living with. So she laughed out loud when he responded, with an equally nonplussed expression.

"Well – magic!"

"Proper magic? There's no point." She wriggled her fingers on his shoulder, trying to think of a way to explain. "Ma kept testing me, before... everything. I don't have magic."

 _We just had a whole conversation inside our heads._ Numair pulled a face at her, and spun her around to avoid a larger woman who had stopped dancing, and seemed to be wilting inside her many peach-coloured ruffles. _And I know you can tell where I am all the time. I can do the same with you. Don't try to tell me that it's not magic doing that, or I'll start laughing in front of all these sour-faced dignitaries._

 _Why is it happening?_ She asked. She was relieved beyond words that it had been him that had brought it up. He shrugged, and then pretended he was stretching out a sleepy muscle when another dancer gave him an odd look.

_I really have no idea. But it's getting worse. We should probably find out, don't you think? Otherwise we might be stuck in each other's heads forever!_

She stopped abruptly, not caring that the other dancers hissed and had to swerve around them. _Is that why you want to teach me?_ She demanded, barely remembering to speak in her mind-voice.

"No." He said curtly. "But feel free to keep thinking the worst of me."

She flushed and looked away, feeling very small and horrible. 

"I'm sorry." She whispered. He smiled and ruffled her hair, forgiving her in an easy second.

"Have we reached a truce, little one?" He asked teasingly. She nodded and smiled back, and was about to say something else when a loud crashing sound rang out. Daine squeaked and clung to Numair's arm. He laughed and took her hand.

"It's the dinner gong. Are you hungry?" He began to walk away from the dancing floor, leading her along easily with a stream of meaningless chatter. "I saw them bringing all the food in when you were in town, you know. Candied almonds, and stuffed peppers, and these tiny little fish... I don't know what they're called but they smelled amazing..."


	20. Feeling Real 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know you used to be a spy. You know how to play these games. These women know things that could help us. I'm sitting you next to Lady Karenna – she's their unofficial leader and, my dear, her eyes have been trailing after you like a sick doe all evening. She would tell you _anything_ if she thought she might get something in return..."

Hazelle was waiting for each of her guests by the door of the hall, resplendent in shining wineskin satin which seemed to catch shadows rather than light. Next to it, her silver hair shone and her aged skin looked nearly translucent, like delicate pearls caught on the sun-warmed clay of a dried riverbed. Her smile was gentle, genuine, but her eyes were sharp for those who knew how to read her. They flicked from face to face, reading and remembering every emotion and carefully storing them away for future use. When her two houseguests came up to her she sank into a shallow curtsey, and they returned it with much deeper bows. Daine flushed as she straightened up, realising that she probably should have curtseyed, but no-one seemed to have noticed.

"Annette, my dear! Trust you to be one of the last to dinner." The lady kissed her cheek warmly. "You look absolutely stunning. Doesn't she, Leto? Wouldn't Marianne be proud of her?"

"Surely." Numair smiled approvingly at Daine, and then turned his eyes to Hazelle with a slight warning in them. "People won't be able to look away."

"I do spoil my girls, I know." Hazelle sighed and pushed out her lower lip as if she'd been scolded. Then she brightened perceptibly, and beckoned one of her servants over. "Annette, you're sitting beside me. Mieke here will show you where we are. I'll keep her out of trouble, Leto, don't worry!"

"We're not sitting together?" Daine blurted out, feeling grey panic flutter in her stomach for a moment. Hazelle laughed and shook her head.

"We can't keep this fine man tied to our apron strings all night, dearest!" She fluttered her fingers to dismiss the girl, and then caught Numair's sleeve as he went to follow them into the hall, her playful attitude fading. "Leto, wait, I need to speak to you."

"I heard about the trick you played on Da... Annette, earlier." He replied in the same voice, eyes narrowing. "Don't think I won't step in if you try the same thing tonight. Can't you let the poor girl have a few hours of peace without playing games with her safety?"

"The games will keep her alive." Hazelle sighed, leaning against the doorframe with odd weariness. "But dry your eyes, precious mortal. She'll be safe enough tonight. Safer than she would be with you."

"I keep her safe," he retorted, stung. "At least I don't march her in front of men who..."

Hazelle shook her head, waving one hand apologetically at the unintended insult. "Eyes have fallen on you. Eyes that could get... resentful."

"The officials?" He asked, suddenly alert. The corner of Hazelle's mouth turned up, and she shook her head.

"Sadly not! No, I'm talking about the women. The officials' daughters don't often smell fresh meat, and the arrival of a young lord from the North has them baying for blood."

Numair blinked, and then laughed shortly. "You can't be serious!"

"Perfectly." Hazelle studied her nails. "I know you used to be a spy. You know how to play these games. These women know things that could help us. How circumspect do you think their fathers are around their little girls? I'm sitting you next to Lady Karenna – she's their unofficial leader and, my dear, her eyes have been trailing after you like a sick doe all evening. She looked positively _sick_ when you danced with Annette. She would tell you anything if she thought she might get something in return..."

"You want me to... to _woo_ her?" Numair could barely believe his ears. He stared at her implacable expression incredulously, and then started to laugh. His words were almost impressed. "You knew this would happen! You planned it all from the start!"

"I don't often get attractive young men at my beck and call, I'm sorry to say." She conceded.

"But, if Daine..." he started, and the lady interrupted him so quickly that the slipped name could barely be recognised.

"Annette will be safe with me. Forget about her and concentrate on this. The more we know, the better prepared we'll be. I'll look after Annette, don't worry."

 _That's not what I meant._ Numair thought, but didn't dare say out loud. _That's not what I was going to say. That's not how Daine will see this._

He didn't dare look up at the girl for the first half of the meal. He didn't know if it was because he knew that the women were watching him closely, or because he knew the look of confusion in her eyes would be hard to bear. He even tried speaking to her, using their silent mind-voice, but he couldn't reach out to her. _I guess we have to be touching._

The Lady Karenna spent the first course staring at him in a kind of stunned silence, fumbling with her knife awkwardly and gasping in embarrassment when she spilled her wine. Numair smiled and took out his napkin, soaking up the red liquid from the white linen cloth before it could stain the wood underneath.

"There," he said, trying to remember how he used to speak to women when he was in the court in Corus. "No harm done! It is very warm in here, isn't it? I'm feeling a trifle clumsy myself."

She smiled and ducked her head, laughing for a little too long and a little too loudly for it to be natural. He beckoned a servant over and gave him the stained cloth, taking the pitcher from the man's hands to top up the woman's goblet himself. She ducked her head and murmured a thank-you.

"It's no bother. I expect you to do the same for me, when I spill my wine during the main course!" he said, coaxing her into a real smile. "There, that's better- I can see you now! I don't like sitting next to people and not getting to know them. It's rather rude, don't you think?"

She mumbled something, and straightened her back to look him in the eye. On her other side an older man, who he guessed was her father, glanced sidelong at them and smiled approvingly.

"I'm Leto." Said Numair.

"Karenna," Her voice was deep, husky, and deliberately pitched so he had to lean closer to hear her. With a flash of amusement, Numair realised the shyness had been as much of an act as his charm. By the time the meat arrived in great trays of honey-glazed opulence, she was laughing so brightly that half the table were captivated.

And, from the other side of the room, a lone grey pair of eyes fixed on the beautiful woman, froze, and didn't look away.

888

Numair thought that Daine might ask about the woman when she saw him next, but by the time the house was empty it was so late that it was a struggle to simply climb the stairs to their rooms. As soon as the hallways were dark and silent, Daine slipped into his room in the same exhausted silence she had the night before, and they fell asleep with barely a sentence passing between them. When he woke up in the morning she had already gone.

Hazelle claimed the young woman for her companion for the morning, and had shut herself away in the solar with strict instructions that any men who ventured into this domain would be bored to death. She had, however, left the keys to her library beside his plate, and Numair spent the hours in the stunned happiness of a scholarly man who had not lost himself in a book in years. The lunch bell shook him out of his trance, and he put the book to one side with some regret, making sure to mark his place.

Daine smiled as he came into the kitchen, and he kissed her forehead in greeting. "Hello, magelet! Are you well?"

"Oh yes," she said brightly, the words a little odd. "Lady Hazelle has been teaching me talking, and depor... deport... dee-port-men... oh! _Walking_. And what people should know." She flushed a little and ate a spoonful of soup. "I think everyone last night thought I was fair foolish. They all know so much about the world, and how to act, and all that. I had to pretend my food was chewy so that every time they asked me a question, I couldn't possibly answer them without being rude."

He laughed and thanked a servant who handed him his own bowl of soup. "That doesn't sound foolish to me."

She pulled a face at him and stirred her food. "Well, it was Lady Hazelle's idea."

"About last night..." he started, and stopped as she cut across him with an over-bright smile.

"Oh! I told her what you said, about magic lessons. And she said it's a good idea, so we can do it in the afternoons if you like. In the library. She says no-one is boring enough to want to go in there."

The man couldn't hide a smile. "You like her, don't you?"

Daine grinned at him. "She's devious and cunning and she's playing us like a deck of cards. I think she's _wonderful_."

One of the servants laughed loudly, hiding the sound in the pot she was polishing by the fire, and Daine flashed a smile their way. Numair suddenly remembered the shy, quiet creature who had cared for him in the prison. This hardly seemed like the same girl! Where before she would have shied away from the servant, thinking her laughter was mocking her, she now shared in it. She smiled and walked around with her head held high, not shrinking away inside her own skin. When the servants had healed her arm and feet they had healed something else, as well. They had given her a home, a place where she would always feel safe and respected.

It was the one thing that Numair knew he would never have been able to give her, even if they had managed to flee the valley. The hawk would have followed them, and the past quick behind it. They would never have been safe. 

He dunked some bread into his soup thoughtfully, eyes straying to the snow that drifted peacefully past the window. He had no doubt that Hazelle's affection for the girl was genuine. There was an odd sweetness in the way she spoke to Daine, a gentleness that was bound up to the sadness that lurked in the older woman's eyes. He knew from the gossip he had overheard at the banquet that the old woman was childless. Her husband had been killed after they'd been married only a few months. The grieving widow had retreated with her fortune into the mountains of Galla to mourn.

Numair could guess the rest. Hazelle had enough money and court connections to be respectable, and carried out her spying under the guise of endless charitable acts and parties. Now that she had renounced the world, she insisted that the world come to her. She was surrounded by people all the time – servants, conspiracists, targets – but she had no family, and now she was growing tired. In a world where everyone around her demanded secrets, or money, or power, she had come across a girl who only really wanted love and safety, and those were things that the old woman had to give in plenty.

 _Daine should stay here._ Numair thought suddenly, and was surprised by how violently his heart rebelled against the thought. _It's the right thing to do. I have to leave. She won't be safe if she comes with me. She should stay here. ___

__With that thought, he decided not to explain to her about the Lady Karenna. He didn't want Daine to cling to him, not when he had nothing to offer her. He didn't want to tell her something that might make her dislike the old woman. So he finished his soup in silence, and then forced himself to smile._ _

__"I found a book for you!" He said, and took her hand to help her to her feet. She accepted gladly, still frustrated at how difficult walking in shoes was, and they walked to the library. When he handed her the book she took it as if it were made of pure jade, turning the embossed cover over in her hands carefully._ _

__"What is it?"_ _

__"It's for your lessons." He said, and opened the cover. "I found it this morning. It's an anatomy book. This one is birds, but the author talks about other books at the start... mammals, fish..." he frowned up at the stacks of books. For all her talk about bookish people being 'boring', Hazelle had collected a lot of books! "I'll try to find them tomorrow."_ _

__"No hurry." She said quietly, looking through the pictures. "I think knowing about birds might be important. And this will take me a long time to read." As if to argue with herself, she flicked from an intricate diagram of a wingspan to a crosshatched sketch of a heron, and then on to a page of eggshell markings. "This is beautiful."_ _

__He watched the odd smile which lit up her face. "Yes," he said, "Beautiful."_ _

__"Is this what we're doing today? Reading?" She asked, holding the book open at a page of kittiwakes in flight. He shook his head and gently shut the book._ _

__"This is for you to do. It's... I can't teach you it; it's your magic that calls for it."_ _

__"Don't we have the same magic?" She looked confused. "You're a bird, I'm a wolf...?"_ _

__"Not quite." He smiled and gestured for her to sit down with him beside the fire. Instead of one of the chairs, he asked her to sit in a tailor's seat, cross legged by the warm embers. The fire, he said, wasn't important. He just hated being cold. "We're going to meditate."_ _

__She held out a hand, and he shook his head. "No, I'm not going with you this time. You have to do it on your own. We both have to learn to control our magic better!"_ _

__"I thought we had to work out what was making us..." she looked confused, and then gestured from her head to his._ _

__"Well, we do, but there's no point until you can see what your core is supposed to be like on its own!" Seeing she still looked confused, he swept some ash from the edge of the fire and flattened it, drawing lines in the grey dust. "See, Daine, when you put this barrier in my mind, I don't know what you did. I do know that you couldn't get past the one that I put into your mind. You said it just... happened. And you didn't know how to make it stop, right? It just poured out of you, like water. That's not magic; you used your life force instead. That's the stuff that keeps you breathing and your heart beating."_ _

__"Is that why I slept for so long on the mountain?" She asked. He nodded, and then hesitated._ _

__"It's why, when they told me you'd died in the prison, I almost believed them."_ _

__She paled, and looked at her hands. The soft callous from the chains still rung her wrist, and she rubbed at it fretfully. He caught her wrist without thinking and held her hand._ _

__"Don't. That's finished. It's over."_ _

__She coloured a little, and tactfully pulled her hand out of his grasp. "They told you the same lie they told me." She said, her voice too flat to properly dismiss the pain of that memory. "And they didn't tell me why I was sick. But this meditating can fix it?"_ _

__"Hypothetically." Numair cleared his throat when she glared at him. "...means yes, sweetling."_ _

__"Good!" She smiled, and for the third time the man found himself wondering where she'd picked up the eerily over-bright expression which dared him to call her a liar. "Let's get started."_ _

__888_ _

__**End of Part 2** _ _


	21. Guilt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I want him to smile at me the way he smiles at her._

888

The days fell into the strange pattern of all peaceful times. Even though each minute passed at the same rate, the days seemed to blur together. Looking back, all Daine could see were vague memories. There were the lessons with Hazelle in the morning, where she slowly learned how to act like a noblewoman. Usually she would walk into the warm, bright solar to find Hazelle sitting alone in a large, comfortable chair, smiling a greeting.

Daine liked those mornings. She would sit at the older woman's side, or at her feet, spinning silk instead of coarse wool and listening to her speak in a soft, amused voice. On those mornings it was as if she were seeing the real Lady Hazelle: a witty, warm woman who loved the silliness of life, and wanted to share it with those around her. After a few days she realised that even the woman's chatter was teaching her: when she was sat next to strangers each evening, she could follow their biting conversation more easily, and knew the right kind of things to say in response.

Numair helped her learn too, but in a different way. Both of them woke up early every morning, long before even the scullery maids were even stirring from their dreams. Daine was still keeping up the pretence that she slept in her own room, but even with another hour’s sleep she could still have protected her reputation safely without having to rush. With the flimsy reason in place they used the time to simply be themselves, and enjoy the rare moments of peace a simple locked door gave them.

Often they didn’t speak at all, but drifted in and out of sleep in one another’s arms. Sometimes, though, Numair told her stories. They were the same kind of stories he had told her in the prison, but more nostalgic and less fantastical than his visions of the glittering Carthak. Daine listened sleepily, wondering at the people he described and the way they behaved. She liked those stories, but she yearned for the tales of the years he spent as a player, travelling across Tortall. She drank in the stories of distant places like a woman dying of thirst.

 _Tell me about the towns,_ she pleaded, using their silent-mind link. They only spoke aloud to each other now when there were other people around. _Are the flowers different in Tortall?_

 _Aren’t you bored of those stories? You’ll see them yourself one day._ Numair teased her.

Daine smiled and absently caught up his hand, tracing the shape of his knuckles. Sometimes he drew away from her when she touched him, but by now she understood his odd moods well enough to know when he would scowl at the smallest affectionate gesture and when he wouldn’t mind. Today it seemed he didn’t mind, and so she cuddled a little closer.

 _Other people talk about those places at the parties._ She shrugged one shoulder. _But they don’t talk about them the way you do. I think you see them differently. Your stories are more… more…_

 _Verbose?_ He asked drily, seeing her struggle for a word. Daine pulled a face at him and let go of his hand.

 _I don’t know what that means._ She hesitated. _The way you see these places, and the way that the nobles do, and the way that I might one day… they’re all different. I know I might see them myself, but I’d still like you to tell me. I like the way you see them, that’s all. It’s like the sky._

 _The sky?_ Numair glanced out of the window automatically, but it was still dark. When he looked back he was surprised to see that Daine looked a little flustered, as if she had admitted something embarrassing.

 _The sky… it saw things that I never could._ She said eventually. _It saw beautiful things and brought them back to me. Not in words like you, but in the clouds. There were castles, and… and trees, and colours. I used to pretend that I could escape. That one day I could just disappear into the sky, and not need to come back. I would fly away and dance with the birds, and no-one would never, ever be able to catch me._

She blushed and looked away from his piercing eyes, feeling foolish. _I guess that sounds fair silly to you._

 _No,_ he looked oddly touched. _I’ve never seen the sky through your eyes before, that’s all._

She didn’t answer, and after a moment he drew her closer and gently kissed her temple. _Which town did you want to hear about, sweet?_

And that was how Daine learned about the world outside of the valley. Through stories and memories and the colours of clouds she slowly grew used to the fact that the world was far bigger than she had ever dreamed. With every story, that thought scared her a little less.

They never spoke about Karenna, though. Daine couldn’t bear to ask.

Those mornings may have had the same predictable peacefulness, but Hazelle's plans were often so bizarre that Daine found herself caught up over breakfast trying to guess what on earth the woman would have dreamed up today. The first time Daine walked through the solar door and saw the chairs pushed back against the walls she honestly thought that the house had been robbed until she saw the lute player bowing to her.

"Don't gape, Annette. Close your mouth and come here." Hazelle held out a hand and cackled at the look of horror on the girl's face. "Yes, my dear, you're going to learn to dance like a _lady_."

The lute player strummed a chord, looked up, sighed, and carefully explained that the little lady should be curtseying to her partner. Daine started laughing. She couldn't help it, the musician looked so appalled! She dropped Hazelle's hand and covered her helpless giggles with shaking fingers.

"This is ridiculous!" She giggled. "Who cares if I can dance?"

Hazelle looked at her seriously, and Daine sobered when she recognised the familiar expression that said, _You have to be able to do this, because a slave wouldn't know how, and they'll be looking for it._

Hazelle never actually said as much to her, but she had a sharp way of snapping at the girl's mistakes that showed exactly how seriously she was taking these lessons. Daine had realised that if she betrayed herself Hazelle would be hurt too, and she _tried_ , really she did. It was just difficult to think about grand plans and dangerous mages when it all seemed to hinge on how to fold a napkin at dinner.

Still, saying _Who cares?_ was rude, and Daine had guiltily opened her mouth to apologise when Hazelle held up a hand. The girl was surprised that the old lady didn't even hint at their serious intention. Hazelle looked at her evenly and said:

"Leto might care."

Daine blushed bright red almost instantly and dropped her eyes to the floor.

"Ah, I thought so." Hazelle said, and her voice was unusually sympathetic. She waved a hand, and the lute player made a discrete exit. The old woman stood in a thoughtful silence for a moment, and then sighed and went to sit down in her usual chair, muttering under her breath about it being shoved into a corner.

"I know about everything that goes on under my roof." She said eventually. "It would be an insult to my skills as a spy if I didn't! I know about every sniffle the kitchen maids get, so of course I know about my two most intriguing house guests sharing a bed."

"We just sleep." Daine raised her chin, defiant even as she felt her cheeks flaming. "We get nightmares if we're not together."

Hazelle blinked at her, and then her face split into an amused grin. "Dear Hag's bones, girl, but I do believe you're not lying! That's the truth, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't lie to you." Daine risked a smile and sat next to her gingerly. "There wouldn't be any point!"

"I'm not omniscient, child!" Hazelle laughed, and patted her hand. "I mean, I don't know everything. I just know the right questions to ask. Doesn't he know you're in love with him?"

Daine jumped at the suddenness of the question, and fiddled with her hair awkwardly, thinking of all the answers she could give to _that_ question!

"He knows... well, I _told_ him." She stammered. "He didn't believe me. He said it would wear off, and that we shouldn't... um." If her blush got any hotter she thought she might burn up in front of Hazelle's eyes, but the woman didn't seem shocked by anything she heard.

Steeling herself, stammering awkwardly, Daine recounted everything that had happened on the mountain, and everything that had happened since. She even described the conversation she'd had with the hawk, and once she'd said that it seemed right to explain about the wolf, too. The only thing she didn't tell the woman was that she and Numair had a way to speak silently to each other. She didn't like the idea of anyone knowing about something as private as that, and especially not anyone who might use it for spying.

Hazelle listened in attentive silence, asking piercing questions at strange moments, and then leaned back in her chair. She frowned and steepled her fingers together.

"So you see," Daine finished, her mouth dry from speaking so much, "We _need_ each other. To keep the hawk trapped in his mind, and the wolf trapped in mine, we've had to stay together. And Numair thinks that's... that's what I think love is. Comradeship and... and gratitude, I guess."

"Or he's convinced himself that that's all he feels for you." Hazelle muttered, almost to herself, stretching out one knobbled knee as if it ached. Daine bit her lip and shrugged uncomfortably. It was easier to think that Numair didn't feel _anything_ than to wonder if he was struggling in the same way that she was.

"Well, lovelorn or not, you're still learning to dance." The lady said, with odd finality. "We've kept that poor lute player out in the corridor for long enough, I think!"

She stood to ring the bell cord to summon the musician back, and then turned. For a moment her face was unsure, which made it look strangely girlish. "Did you ever actually _tell_ him that you were in love with him? In as many words?"

"Of course..." Daine's voice trailed off, and she looked confused, "Well, no. But..."

"You might try it." Hazelle rang the bell, and straightened her shoulders. "Words have more power than you might realise, and those words most of all."

And so the dance lessons continued.

How else did the time pass? Daine thought over what Hazelle had said, but she still didn't dare to ask Numair about the noble woman he seemed besotted with, let alone say the few words that might make a difference.

So Daine's days passed in a peaceful, frustrated happiness, especially the afternoons with Numair in the cool, quiet library, where more was left unsaid than spoken aloud.

The evenings were taken up in a whirl of bright colours and soft fabrics. There didn't seem to be a single night when Hazelle wasn't throwing a party, or playing cards, or settling bets between drunken friends. Daine couldn't remember being more exhausted, even when she had been a slave. There, she could let her mind wander away from the endless work. Here, she had to be constantly alert, watching faces and listening to stories, and reporting back to Hazelle in the morning. The woman was strict with her, chiding her for making mistakes or confusing names, and Daine quickly learned how to read a room without appearing to.

But that meant that she had to watch everyone in the noisy gatherings... and that included the Lady Karenna.

At first she was part of a faceless crowd of women: young butterflies in brightly coloured skirts who flitted about the room, sweeping up men in their path. They had been introduced to Daine on the second banquet, and had looked archly at her unpainted face and unobtrusive posture before making cursory platitudes in their shrill voices and speeding away.

Daine wasn't sorry to see them go, although she did wonder what it would be like to be a part of that pack. In a way, they reminded her of the wolves. They had the same hunger in their eyes, the same way of circling the room, the same elegant poise. And then the butterflies dispersed, and there was Karenna.

Even Daine had to admit that she was breathtaking. She was a traditional Gallan beauty, all golden hair and glowing skin, wrapped in tailored dresses which showed off her sweeping curves. Other men often stopped or took a step back to look at her appreciatively. She acknowledged their attention with a flash of her sky-blue eyes, lashes lowered, and then let them invite her to dance so she could show off her dainty walk and her perfect composure.

Ever since Karenna had been placed next to Numair she had reserved a special smile for him: a half-shy, half-mischievous look up through those golden lashes. Daine thought that she must have practiced the look for hours a day in her mirror, and hated the curdled feeling in her stomach when it seemed to have an effect on Numair. He smiled back at the lady in a way Daine had never seen before.

To Daine, that smile looked empty. She couldn't read it, any more than she could work out what he saw in the other woman. He danced with Karenna with effortless skill, showing off his years in the court of Corus. When he danced with Daine he held her carefully, as if she was unbearably fragile, and he never danced with her more than once before returning to the butterflies.

 _It's so people won't talk about us._ Daine told herself, but she felt her hands curling into fists when he saw him laughing at something Karenna had said. _I bet that wasn't even funny._

The woman said something to Numair, and he leaned his head closer to hear her over the crowd. Laughing, he shook his head and gestured to his ears, then took her arm to lead her outside. As they slipped through the crowd, Karenna looped her arm around the man's waist, and he turned that strange, empty smile on her again.

I'm sure she really wants to _talk_. Daine kicked at the floor so savagely she felt one of the tiny flowers that were sewn onto her shoes tear free.

That night she almost didn't go to Numair's room, but when she tried to sleep she could see Karenna's bright smile glowing on the face of every demon. Shuddering, she dragged herself to wakefulness and crept along the corridors. There was no need to be silent really, but even if Hazelle knew the truth it was still disrespectful to their host to blatantly do something that looked so immoral. Daine liked the woman far too much to embarrass her like that. Even though she was angry, she still walked with soft footsteps.

"Daine?" He whispered when the door creaked open, and she guiltily realised that he'd been awake, waiting. As soon as she lay next to him he touched her shoulder, his mind-voice worried. _Sweet, are you alright?_

 _I'm tired._ she said evasively, and then shivered when he started to ask another question. _Please, Numair, don't ask me anything. I'm just tired._

 _Alright,_ He said evenly, and then he drew her into his arms and held her tightly. _But whatever it is, if you do want to tell me, I'm right here._

She felt her throat close up at the unaffected, intimate way he could read her mood. _Like I'm his sister,_ she thought, and wrapped her fingers around his hand unconsciously.

__I'm so lucky really. So lucky. He does care about me. Maybe he even loves me. He just doesn't love me the same way he loves... her. If I'm too much of a coward to ask him about it, then I should stop being jealous of something that's making him happy.__

____I want him to be happy._ _ _ _

The thought was so striking, so passionate, that it made tears well up in her eyes. Because it wasn't one thought, but two. One wanted him to be happy, but the other felt so selfish, so hopeless. It made bitterness and love and anger and loneliness boil in her blood and come out as half-muffled sobs.

_____I want him to smile at me the way he smiles at her.__ _ _ _

Numair's arms tightened around her, and one hand reached up to gently brush tears away from her cheeks. The first time he had done that she had thought it was the hand of a demon about to kill her. Now it was the hand of someone that she loved so desperately that it hurt, and all she could do was cry. If she ever wanted to ask the question that was burning on her lips it was then, but she couldn't. Her mind was such a confused whirl that the words refused to make sense, and all she could do was curl up in the arms of the man who didn't love her and cry herself into darkness.

"Ssh, ssh, I know," he whispered into her ear, and when she sobbed louder he stroked her hair back from her forehead tenderly. "Oh little one, please don't cry. I can't bear it."

888

The next morning, Hazelle received a message as they were sitting in the solar. She opened the slip of ornate paper and read it, her eyes flicking up to Daine speculatively before she folded it and carefully tucked it into a pocket.

"You'll be staying with me this afternoon." She said stiffly, not meeting the girl's eyes. Daine couldn't stop the panic rising in her voice.

"Why – what's happened to Numair? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, but I do wish you'd remember to call him by his proper name." The lady said tersely. "Leto is receiving company this afternoon, that's all. _ _"_ _

"Company?" Daine blanched. "It's that woman, isn't it? Karenna? She's coming here." The words sounded flat in her own ears. The afternoons were her time with Numair. She had been jealous of the woman before, but she didn't feel like Karenna was actually stealing her friend away from her until that moment. She stood up, dropping her spindle.

"It is the Lady Karenna, yes, and you will sit down." Hazelle's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do you want to spoil _everything?"_

"How can I?" She felt her eyes well up with tears, and brushed them away angrily. "All I want to do is talk to him..."

"Then you should have done that before, don't you think?" Hazelle was unrepentant, picking up the spindle and groaning at her stiff back when she straightened up. "If he's chosen not to confide in you, then it's not my place to tell you what's going on."

Daine swallowed painfully and sat down in the window seat, pressing her face against the glass so the hot tears wouldn't be seen. The tiny panes were warped and coloured, which usually made a shifting rainbow of light on the floor. With her face pressed against them the image cleared, and she could see the garden. The trees were all dead sticks poking out from the snow, but the holly that ringed the grounds was green and lush, and the morning was bright. Numair was there, and as she watched a lithe, fur-wrapped figure came up behind him and took his arm.

 _I wish I could hear what they're saying._ She thought, and sat back against the cushions miserably. One of the cats that prowled the castle jumped up into her lap, pawing at her until Daine absentmindedly petted it. After a few moments her hand slowed, and the cat looked up at her inquisitively.

 _\- You could go down there, couldn't you? -_ Daine asked slowly. The cat mewed, not deigning to use its wild voice for a moment, and then admitted that yes, it probably could. The girl pleaded with it for a moment, and finally the cat agreed to go and eavesdrop, in exchange for being brought every kind of treat imaginable from the next banquet.

It was just standing up, paws heavy, when Daine stopped it. _ _ __– Wait! –__ _ _

_-What is it now, human?-_ The cat sniffed, trying not to sound annoyed. The girl hesitated, and reached out to stroke between the cat's ears.

 _\- Could I... could I try something? –_ She had no idea if it would work, but after a few weeks of magic lessons she'd once accidentally found herself staring through the eyes of one of the mice that lived in the library, seeing herself sitting cross-legged on the floor. The shock had made her gasp and drag herself away almost instantly, but she knew it was possible. She explained to the cat, who shook itself to hide the fact that its fur was standing on end.

 ____\- Doesn't scare me. –_ ___ The creature lied arrogantly. – _ _ _ _But if you're not quick they'll go away. –__ _ _

_\- I know. –_ She looked at Hazelle cautiously, and then turned in the seat so it looked like she was still staring out of the window. Closing her eyes, she began to breathe steadily. It took a horrendous amount of time. Every time she was close to finding her core, impatience jerked her out of it. The cat sat down heavily, and then yawned and started licking itself impatiently.

 _\- I have more important things, human... –_ It drawled, running its paw over one ear. Daine's eyes flew open and she whispered a curse- she'd been so close!

 _- All the fish. – _She said desperately. _–Everything I can carry. You can have it. All of it. –_

The cat's eyes widened, but it tried to look unconcerned. _ _– Hurry, then! –__

A few minutes later, looking slightly dizzy, a pampered housecat padded down the kitchen steps and loped into the garden. Like a normal cat it froze and stared at anything that moved, but unlike any others of its species it ignored the birds and rodent trails, and darted down the path with an odd sense of purpose.

Two humans were sitting in the garden, on one of the stone benches that were scattered around the paths. The cat shuddered at the thought of sitting on that cold stone, but the human creatures were wrapped up in furs, and didn't seem to notice the snow soaking through their boots. As the cat padded closer another voice whispered in its head, and its ears flattened. Don't go closer, they'll see us! Hide so we can listen.

The cat yawned and stretched for a moment, deliberately slow before it slinked into the bushes. A drop of melting ice dripped onto its nose, and it mewed in annoyance. The voice in its head hushed it.

"It's so good to be alone." The female was saying, her voice too shrill for her age. The male smiled in reply, but didn't say anything. The woman seemed uncomfortable with the silence, and rushed to fill the lull in conversation: "My house is always so full of people, you have no idea! A bit of peace and quiet is a blessing straight from the Mother Goddess."

"You surprise me! I would have thought you would have some escape route... some little hideaway." The man sounded teasing, and the woman trilled a laugh in reply.

"Even my _private_ chambers aren't safe," she confided, dropping her voice as if someone could overhear. "So many servants hurrying around – listening in – it really is unbearable!"

"You seem to have overcome it remarkably well," he smiled, and gestured to her face. "Look, not one worry line, nor a single grey hair!"

She pushed her lower lip out sulkily, but her voice was breathy. "I do believe you're mocking me."

"Me?" He raised a hand to his heart, hurt, and then winked. "I don't think I'd dare. Your father might send his army of servants after me."

"Oh, he doesn't have an army." She said dismissively. "They're just mages." She giggled and raised a hand to her mouth, resting manicured nails against her lips instead of actually covering her mouth. "Oh, I shouldn't have said that! But you'll find all this out anyway, won't you?"

"All of this?" He raised an eyebrow. "Nefarious secrets and skeletons in your dungeons, is that it?"

She opened her mouth to retort, and then blushed and looked away. For the first time, her voice sounded uncertain. "Can we talk about something else? My father will be angry with me."

"But, if it's troubling you..." he started, and leaned in closer to touch the side of her face gently. "If it's upsetting you, I want to know. I don't want _anything_ to hurt you, even if it's just a few words that are screaming in your mind. I'd do anything to make you smile, my darling."

She smiled wanly, and leaned closer. "Do you really mean that?" She murmured, catching his hand in her own talon-like fingers. He smiled oddly but didn't answer.

Then there was a yowl, a hiss and the sound of breaking twigs, and a cat leapt out of the shrubbery into the clearing as if it were being chased by the Graveyard Hag's pet rats. The two humans flinched away from each other, watching the possessed cat with wide eyes as it pawed at its ears in agony, rolling around in the snow as if it was on fire. Then, with another yowl, it sped off towards the stables.

Numair stared after the animal, his confusion turning into dawning suspicion as it again stopped and clawed at its own ears.

 _It's hearing something it shouldn't._ He thought.

He knew there was only one person who could do that. As if to answer him, a voice shouted down the garden. It was the Lady Hazelle, and her normally steady voice was panicked.

"Leto! Come quickly, it's Annette! She's not moving!"


	22. Guilt 2

The words stayed with her. 

They hurt too much to ignore, even when the rest of the world faded away and the creature known as Daine faded with it. 

She drifted, taking on the thoughts and feelings of the cat even as her human ears stayed to listen, hearing every breath the two humans took, and every cursed word that went with them. Every word which stung and burned and twisted something that was brittle inside her heart until she wanted to cry. 

It was a curse, but she turned to embrace it. She couldn't escape. The words kept her tied to her mortal shell. They kept some part of her human. But, the more she heard, the less she wanted to stay in this poisonous world. It was unfair, and unkind, and then it simply became unrecognisable. Why should she care about the silly humans when there were birds to hunt, and territories to prowl?

And then she glanced up through the cat's eyes, and she saw the humans lean towards each other, and this time some part of her shattered. She screamed.

The cat yowled back at her, hurt by the sudden violence of the emotion which shrilled in both of their ears, but she couldn't stop the sound. The feral voice screamed inside her, inside both of them, more catlike than human. It was the only part of her that was still the woman called Daine, and it demanded to be heard. Daine clung to it, knowing even as it burned her that if she let go of the pain for a single second she would lose herself, and not know how to come back.

The cat sprang along the path, clawing at its head to force her out, and Daine lurched from its mind on clumsy paws. As a shade no more solid than a glimmer of bronze sunlight she padded through the snow and cried out at the white winter sky. What sobbed in the garden? A ghost, or a demon, or a child lost in the snow. She no longer knew. She no longer cared. She was nothing, and everything, and pain. Every wild creature in the garden screamed back at her in agony. 

Then...

Searing pain flooded through her, and with it her body returned. Her mind was dragged back into her shell so quickly that she retched, blindly fighting against whatever had hurt her, blinking bronze flares from her eyes and gasping.

"Daine!" The voice was familiar, but she couldn't name it. It was human, she knew that. A man. She didn't know what a _Daine_ was, though. 

Her cheek stung. She remembered that she was supposed to have a face. She realised that the human must have slapped her. She wrenched her eyes open and glared blindly forward, her vision filled with copper sparks and black fire. She raised her hands so he couldn't strike her again, panting in terror as a senseless moue of frightened sound escaped from her lips. 

To her shock, the human sounded almost as terrified as she felt. "You're awake! You're _back_! Oh, thank the gods, I thought I'd never find you!"

She gasped in a breath and remembered his name, dragging herself away and retching as the movement made her muscles shudder and her chest hitch. The man caught her wrists and stopped her from moving, holding her still until her shudders faded slightly and she could see again. 

Daine could see the man now, but she didn't need to see him to be afraid of him. For all his care, for all his tenderness, she could feel the tense anger running through every muscle of his body. In her half-feral state it was the only thing she could understand, and she shrank from it. It was only a few minutes later before his fury finally burst out.

"Look!" He grabbed her wrist and held her protesting hand up in front of her eyes, letting her take in the elongated claws and fused pads before he shook her and let go. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"I..." She gasped, confused, her eyes still unfocused as she scrambled for an answer. Her thoughts retreated, scared of his anger, confused by the human shell they found themselves in. She whined and tried to writhe away from him. 

The man cursed and took hold of her chin. His anger was eclipsed by helpless panic as he desperately thought of what to do. He could see her mind slipping away. She dragged away from him and struck out with half-formed claws, struggling and whimpering when he grabbed her wrists.

"No, no... don't..." He pleaded. She shut her eyes, the lids shimmering into feline orbs, and made a sound that was halfway between a sob and a hiss.

"No, no Daine, you can't. Please come back. Please, sweetheart, look at me." He whispered frantically. "Look!" 

She raised eyes that held catlike, coppery irises, and met his gaze unsteadily, clearly hardly recognising the human that sat beside her. He smiled shakily and took hold of her hand, knowing that the last thing he should do was scare her again.

"Look at me." He whispered, "Just at me, nowhere else. Don't think about anything else. You're safe. You're safe, and no-one is going to hurt you, and I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I'll help you. Look at me. Remember who you are. You're Daine, remember? You were born in Galla, and we met in a prison cell, and you saved my life, and... and you... you don't like the taste of mutton or feeling cold, and you have brown hair and beautiful shining eyes... " 

He kept speaking, a long meaningless string of words that stopped her mind from flying away, kept her rooted in her own skin and locked in his black eyes. Each word made her remember a little, and each memory made her feel more like herself again, as if she were a broken puzzle that he had to put together.

Another memory surfaced when he brushed her cheek with his hand. His touch was infinitely tender, and the memory swelled into an emotion so strong it made her heart skip a beat. She remembered what the human girl would do. It was the first thought that seemed to truly fit in her mind. So she did it, leaning forward and kissing him with slow, loving curiosity. The memories flooded back as soft warmth grew in her stomach; his hand felt like velvet brushing against her skin, and when she touched him and each fingertip tingled in odd heat she finally remembered what it was to be herself.

Numair's fingers tightened around her wrist, and she drew away with a suddenly familiar feeling of embarrassment. To her surprise he was smiling: a hesitant, worried expression, but one that glowed with relief when she met his eyes and her shaking lessened. She shut her eyes cautiously, and when she refocused on him they were sea-grey again. 

"Well done." He said with relief obvious in his voice. He stroked a strand of hair away from her eyes, and however guarded his expression, his eyes couldn't hide the fear that he'd felt. "That... that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

She blinked, and looked at her hands. They were human again, pink and delicate, and she remembered that she wasn't really a cat. It had been the madness. The madness that she thought she'd left behind her in the prison had come back, and she had let herself be lured into it like a stupid child. She shivered and drew her knees up to her chin, feeling ashamed of herself and, suddenly, violently ill.

"I'm sorry," he said, seeing her whiten. "The barrier broke down in your mind, and I had to... your mind fought me when I tried to fix it."

Now that Daine could see properly she noticed that he was pallid too – not just from the pale fear that had been so obvious in his voice, but a tired translucency that came from using too much magic. He stroked her hair, and his hand was cold. "I'm sorry. I knew it would hurt you but I couldn't think of any other way, and every second that I waited..." he shivered and leaned back against the window, still holding her closely.

"I thought I was too late. I thought I was going to lose you." He said.

Daine shut her eyes and concentrated on his cool hand on her aching head. She wasn't at all sure that she had wanted to be found, and the thought scared her, because she couldn't quite remember why she would think that.

"What were you doing?" Numair started asking, and then stopped when the door of the solar crashed open.

"No, I don't _care_ if you don't want me in here. There's clearly a problem, and obviously you might need all the help you can get..." The bright, breathy voice carried a woman in with it, and Karenna swept into the solar as if she owned it. She took in the scene in an instant and a false smile attached itself to her face. Hazelle trailed in behind her with equally curious eyes, but her expression was thunderous when she looked at the woman.

"Oh, Leto, you had me so worried!" Karenna breathed, fluttering over to the window in a rustle of yellow silk. Numair glanced down at Daine, and then the worry evaporated from his face and the empty smile was back.

"Karenna, my dear." He said brightly. "I did ask you to wait."

"As did I." Muttered Hazelle, looking rather frazzled.

"Well, pardon me for wanting to help after you keep me waiting for an _hour_." Karenna looked a little put out. "What happened?"

"My niece was taken suddenly ill." Hazelle said stiffly, not looking at anyone in particular. "But she's a little better now, it seems. Is that right, Leto?"

Numair nodded, unable to stop a relieved smile passing between himself and the old woman. Some of the tension breathed out from the air. Hazelle found her chair and sank into it with a barely audible sigh, running a hand through her hair and mouthing a few prayerful words skywards. 

Karenna swooped in on Daine. The girl shrank away, but she felt the woman's nails brush her cheek like talons. "You poor dear! Well, you look well enough now. Perhaps you should just go to bed and stop bothering your cousin, hmm?"

"She's not bothering _anyone._ " Numair tried to make the words sound like a joke, but they came out sounding clipped and dangerous. Karenna drew back sharply.

"You shouldn't pander to her. If she's ill she should be in bed, and if not she should stop attention seeking and leave you alone. I've seen her staring after you with those huge doe-eyes every night. I've seen the way she follows you around when she thinks no-one's looking. It's pathetic. She just wants attention. I can't believe you're encouraging her!"

Numair went white. "What makes it any of your concern, mistress Karenna?" he asked coldly. 

The woman took a step back, realising she'd said too much, and as if someone had blown out a candle the anger was suddenly gone from her face. The smile returned.

"I'm just looking out for you, dearest. I wouldn't want you to be burdened with someone else's problems."

"Annette will _never_ be a burden." His voice was sharp, and Daine flinched. Her head was starting to pound horribly. She rested it against Numair's shoulder, but when his arm tightened around her she suddenly remembered how he'd been speaking to Karenna in the garden, and felt dizzy rather than comforted.

"Leto and Annette grew up in the same household." Hazelle cut in quickly, her eyes seeking out Numair's with a definite warning even as she invented an explanation. "He's always had a bit of a soft spot for the ladies, has our Leto. You must have noticed, eh Karenna? How he's always so chivalrous and attentive? Well, we've always said in our family that he gets it from looking out for Annette! Always getting into mischief when she was a child. Weren't you, my dear?"

She glared at Daine until the girl nodded, mutely. Hazelle smiled, and her voice became jovial. "Come come now, let's all be friends again. We're all a little shaken up, I think! Karenna is perfectly correct, Leto: Annette _should_ be in bed. And I think you both need to apologise to each other. I won't have raised voices in my home!"

Numair still looked angry, but the fake smile grew on Karenna's face in an instant, and she kissed the man's cheek cheerfully. Her lipstick made a red mark. "There, are we friends again?"

He smiled, but there was little warmth in it. Karenna didn't seem to notice. She tilted her face to one side, and sighed happily when he brushed her cheek with his lips.

"Good." Hazelle said, and rang the bell. "Now let's have no more of this silliness."

The servant carried Daine to her own room, taking her out of Numair's arms tactfully enough that he couldn't object, although Hazelle still had to warn him with a glare not to say anything. Karenna was still there, her eyes sharp after their fight. Her chatter was empty enough, filling the silence after they'd apologised, and Daine could hear the echoes of her high-pitched voice even when the servant had climbed a flight of stairs.

She couldn't sleep, no matter how much her head hurt. The servant pulled the thick curtains shut but left a small triangle open at the top, and Daine stared at the beam of grey light. She felt... trapped. Trapped inside her own head. And as more memories of being human returned to her, so did memories of the madness. 

She remembered the last time she had returned to herself. It had been in the jail cell. There the beam of light had been square, sliced into four by the bars which ran across it, and the light had been the sickly yellow of cheap candles. The cell had smelled of sour air and smoke, and she remembered it now that she could smell the lingering muskiness of Karenna's perfume.

She remembered what they'd said in the garden. She remembered wishing that Numair might be happy. The two things didn't seem to fit together. 

_Were_ they happy together? She couldn't imagine it, but the things that they'd said to each other... now she could think about them as a human, not as a cat, she blushed. They weren't the sort of words you were supposed to overhear. Numair was probably angry with her. They were friends, but it didn't mean she should pry into his life like a jealous fool. He was trying to make a life outside of what they shared together. Why did she begrudge him that? If anything, she should be happy for him! Hadn't his life been as difficult as her own? If he could move away from it, then of course he would. And, Daine chided herself sternly, Karenna was very pretty, and friendly enough to the right people, and perhaps when she wasn't feeling neglected she was a nice person.

She turned onto her side and curled up, cuddling a pillow. Her headache had faded to a dull pain behind her eyes, and when she shut them it disappeared altogether. She lay with her eyes closed, resolving that when she woke up she would try to be nicer to Karenna. She fell asleep thinking that, and drifted into black, shapeless nightmares.

The door clicked open, and she opened heavy eyes to see that the sun had set, and the triangle of light had disappeared. The maids who had drifted in to build up the fire through the afternoon were almost eerily silent, so she knew this must be someone else. She rubbed her eyes and struggled to sit up. She could hear the cheerful sounds of the banquet downstairs when the door opened wider.

"I thought you might be hungry." Numair said, setting down a tray awkwardly and turning to close the door. His voice was a little over-solicitous. "If you weren't asleep, that is."

"I was, but I am hungry." Daine answered, taking the tray and thanking him. To her relief the food was simple, although it still made her stomach turn. She picked at the bread and sighed, pushing the cup of soup further away. "Well, I thought I was."

"You'll feel better tomorrow." He hesitated, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Daine, why were you spying on me?"

She shredded the bread between her nails. "I wasn't."

"You were that cat." He persisted. "I know it was you."

"No, it was the cat. Just a _cat._ Nothing magical, nothing... sinister. Just a grumpy, arrogant cat. He let me see through his eyes." She gave up on trying to eat the bread and started dropping the crumbs into the soup. "I wanted to see if I could do it, so I tried."

He was silent for a long time, absently tracing the design of her bedspread with one finger. "I wouldn't let Hazelle know that's what you were doing." He said finally, not looking at the girl. "She would try to use it. I'm sure you could spy on anyone, if you found the right animal to help you, couldn't you? You could hear _anything._ "

"Like what?" She asked, pushing him to actually say what he was hinting at. He shrugged, still awkward, and then looked at her for the first time. To her surprise, his eyes held the same calculated blankness they'd had when he'd spoken to Karenna, and his words were flat.

"You'd... no, not you. Your cat, right? Either way, one of you might overhear things you don't understand."

"I didn't hear anything." She insisted stubbornly.

He stood up, and she couldn't see his face in the shadows. His voice was sharp. "Why are you _lying_ to me? I know exactly what you were doing. I know what you were trying to find out. I don't know why you didn't just _ask_ me. Don't you know I would have told you everything? Everything, Daine. All you ever had to do was ask."

She stared at him, and was suddenly bitter that he could see her expression while she was blind to his. How could she explain to him that finding the words to ask was an impossible task? The thought of his answers terrified her. But he couldn't see that. He gave his own pain words, and they were poisonous.

"You clearly don't trust me enough to believe my answers. Instead, you chose to spy on me. Perhaps that's Hazelle's doing, but it was a low move. It's beneath you, Daine, and so is lying about it. I thought you were better than that. Perhaps I was wrong."

"Shouldn't you get back to the banquet?" She asked, her voice cold. His words burned her, and she couldn't hear the raw pain in them, just the accusation. "Your friends will be missing you. Go and yell at _them_. No-one gave you the right to yell at _me_."

"I left early." He said, "because I was tired. I spent all my magic healing you, remember?" he started to leave, feeling sick at making the cheap shot that had made Daine whiten, but his anger was too fierce to stop him from turning back and saying, "I won't do it again. If you ever, _ever_ do that again, you're on your own."

"Who _asked_ you to help me?" She yelled back, but her words were answered with just the click of the door closing behind him. Half furious, half deeply ashamed, she threw a pillow at the door and buried herself under the quilt.


	23. Guilt 3

Alanna arrived with the first snowdrifts in a flurry of swearwords, bundled up in so many layers that she was almost a globe. The servant had to open the door as wide as it would go to let the woman in, and then stood with her hands pressed over her ears in shocked silence as the knight shed her warm layers with a different curse for each one. It wasn't until a blaze of cropped red hair appeared and the globe had taken the shape of a short, stocky woman that the swearing stopped, and the servant handed her a cup of hot cider in some relief.

"Shall I fetch..." she began timidly, and wasn't at all surprised when the loud woman interrupted her.

"No, let me warm up first. I'm a bear when I'm cold, and I've not seen any of them for years. I don't want them to think I've gone completely feral!" She sipped at the cider with a sigh of satisfaction, wrapping both hands around the warm clay cup. "This is very good."

"Thank you m'm." The servant bobbed a curtsey, and busied herself picking up the discarded clothes. From the corner of her eye she could see through the window into the courtyard, where a string of stableboys were pointing at the kitchen and whispering to each other. The rear of a gorgeous stallion was just being led into the stable, and some of the boys were following it with wide eyes. Although the creature's tack and saddle were old and worn, it was clearly a fine horse.

"I know. I'd've bought a run-down nag if I thought it could get over those passes, but once the snows hit, well..." Alanna shrugged and kicked off her boots. "I have a dread of being trapped in some god-awful snowed-in valley for the winter. I'd rather have to tell a few lies once I arrive here, than freeze my toes off on the journey."

"Yes m'm." The maid bobbed again.

"Yes m'm." Alanna mimicked ironically, and took another mouthful of cider. "You know any other words? I'm in a good mood for a chat."

"Shouldn't I fetch..." the woman tried again, and flinched when the knight shook her head and flung herself into one of the chairs by the fire.

"No, you're perfect. Just what I need. You can tell me about them."

"Yes m..." the servant blushed, and then laughed. "You want to gossip, my lady?"

"Gossip, chat... gather information..." Alanna listed, waving a hand carelessly. "Yes. I do."

"About your friend?" The woman asked, and the knight could hear the curiosity in the question. The servants were, apparently, as keen to hear stories about Numair as she was. Well, in for a copper, in for a king's ransom... she sighed and stretched out her legs.

"About someone that I knew ten years ago, who I still care about, but who I don't know much about." She said carefully. The servant smiled thinly, and fetched a cup of steaming hot milk from a large pot on the stove. 

Deliberately relaxing, the maid stretched out her thin legs in an imitation of the knight's, leaning back against her chair with a sigh as she took in the warmth of the fire. She began to speak as an equal, describing everything that had happened over the past few weeks. Alanna listened with interest, and although she asked many questions, they were said in such a wry, joking tone that the maid couldn't fathom what she meant to find out.

"You say they do magic lessons together?" She asked, fluttering her fingers in the vague shape of an explosion. "Isn't that a bit risky? I'd thought to see you all running for your lives from an untrained adult mage."

"Miss Annette?" The servant laughed and folded one leg under her. "Well, she's not so very old. And the way I hear it..." she leaned forward, and her voice took on the fluid tones of a storyteller, "They're both as bad as each other! Ma'am said that they need to stay together, or else..." she waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and made the same explosive hand gesture Alanna had made.

"They linked their magic together?" For the first time, the knight's bright tone faded, and she looked almost sickened, as if a bad memory was forcing its way through the years. "H... how? Why? When?"

"No, it has to be an excuse." The maid said dismissively, and sipped her milk. "It was such a worry to them when they were sharing a bed, but once the Lady Karenna came between them, well... they barely say two words to each other a day! And those are usually said in anger."

"So, they had a fight." Alanna forced herself to smile and drink her cider, and not think about Thom. She had to force down the urge to find this Annette girl and pin her down, to search her gift for... for what? The shadow of a long-dead mage? It was a ridiculous thought, but it was one of the first things that she genuinely thought might have kept Numair away from Tortall for so long. She made her voice light. "People fight. I thought you had interesting things to tell me!"

"People do." The servant stirred floating cinnamon dust into her milk with a grubby finger, then licked it clean. "But we don't think they're people. Not really. Not if they're from the..."

"Vivien!" The voice was sharp, if refined, and the maid flinched upright so quickly she spilled the rest of her milk. Her mistress descended on her with a face like thunder, but it was only when Alanna rested a hand on the woman's arm that Hazelle found another thought to interrupt her tirade. "Oh, Alanna! When did you get here?"

"Not long ago." The knight beamed and gestured frantically at the maid behind the lady's back. The servant gasped gratefully and ran for it, disappearing into the cellars. Hazelle smiled wryly at the disappearing back.

"I'll have to fire her."

"I wouldn't. If no-one gossiped in this kitchen at all, it'd attract more attention than some silly stories from a kitchen maid." Alanna drained her milk and stood up. "I've actually been in the valley for a few days, in the inns. Their stories are close to hers... although, of course, they think they're visiting nobles from another valley."

"That's Karenna's fault, not my servants." Hazelle said darkly. "We're drawing her in for information, but you always have to give something back, don't you?"

Alanna smiled and followed Hazelle out of the room. "That's what George says." She tucked her hands into her belt, and muttered under her breath at the old woman's bent back. "But I would never surrender like that."

"It's not a war." The woman said sharply, rounding on her. "You don't surrender. You find weaknesses, and exploit them, and if it takes a few arguments and a few wild rumours to do that then you take the hit."

The knight stopped, and caught Hazelle's wrist to lead her to a window. With a hand held carefully out of the icy draft, she gestured at the valley they could see spread out around them.

"Like I said, Lady Hazelle," she said coldly. "I spent the last week in your valley, as a stranger, asking questions. Do you know that every third man of fighting age works in the forts? Of course you do. Do you know that all the mages in the valley are holed up there, and the aura around those places is so dense I can't even scry there? Yes, you must know that. And you know that all the criminals in Galla – all the ones who are violent, or who have strong gifts, all the dangerous ones, are kept in those two castles. You know all this. And you're still telling me it's not a war? You look at them, and you see a valley with a few corrupt, petty lords. I see a group of power-hungry men who are building an army, right on the border of Tortall!"

She turned around, and her violet eyes were fierce. "I'm here, in your house, because my friend asked for my help. On the other side of the border, my men are gathering because my country is under threat. You can play this game any way you like, my lady, but don't tell me it's not a war. If we're lucky, then it won't be. But we can't pretend that's not what's going on here!"

"Lucky." Hazelle said, her eyes an odd mixture of defeat and intrigue. Alanna glanced at her, and the corner of her mouth turned up.

"Well, it all seems to pivot on our mutual friend, doesn't it?" She said, and the light note was back in her voice. The old woman smiled, but the expression was weak.

"It's not just him. It's both of them. They're inseparable, even if they're furious at each other like they are at the moment. But if I had to place a name on it, then your pivot is... is Daine." She said, and for the first time her voice was reluctant. "But if it truly is a war, as you say, then... please, Lioness, I wouldn't usually ask this, but..."

Alanna thought back to the servant, and remembered wanting to shake Numair's stray and scour her gift for the sickness that had killed Thom. Her face set. "No. If it's her fault," she said, "If she's the reason they're mobilising... if it's her battle, then she must fight it."


	24. Guilt 4

Alanna found Numair sitting by one of the house's many large fires and she hung back, amused, listening to the idiotic things he was saying to the lady he was with. She could smell the woman's perfume- a cloying, almost over-sweet scent which you could taste as it hung thickly in the close air. Her giggle matched the scent- just as overused, and breathy, as if she were exhausted listening to all of the compliments she must have heard a thousand times before.

Alanna had certainly heard the same words before – not directed at her, thank the goddess, but used by the young courtiers in Corus as they trailed after the dainty damsels. Numair had always had a knack for it, she remembered. He spoke to women with the same light-fingered deceit that he used to pull coins from children's ears. Perhaps there was a name for it. Sleight of words? It always seemed to work, although Alanna could have told each of the women that he was about as sincere as a pickpocket trying to misdirect their eye.

She decided not to interfere, seeing that whatever nonsense they were talking about was ending, and waited until the simpering woman had left the room before making her move. To her surprise, when the woman left the first thing Numair did was furtively make a few notes on a scrap of paper he had tucked away in his belt. Alanna hadn't spent years living with spies for nothing; she recognised the whole game in an instant and laughed, seeing him freeze at the sound.

"I see you're still up to your old tricks," she said lightly, stepping forward so she fell into his line of sight. He looked blankly at her for a second, and then a wide smile danced across his face, and he laughed irresistibly.

"Alanna! When did you get here?"

"This morning. Well, a week ago." Alanna corrected herself, and then caught the man up in a bear hug. He hugged her back, delighted, and a thousand questions seemed to ask themselves in a second.

"Whoa whoa there, hold up. You'll get yourself in a tangle." Alanna told him gruffly, trying to pretend that she couldn't see the tears in his eyes. Well, her own eyes were burning, but she could forgive a grown man for crying much more easily than she could excuse it in herself. "Sit down, idiot, and let me look at you in the light. You've been gone so long I still have to check and see if it is you!"

"It is." His voice was adamant, but he sat down obediently. "It's so good to see you, Alanna. How is everyone? How are you? And George, and Buri, and Jon, and..."

Alanna held up her hand and glared at him until he stopped talking. "Are we really going to have ten years worth of gossip before lunch? Besides, before I tell you anything I need to know..."

"Yes, I guessed you'd say that." He sat back, still smiling, "But... oh, Alanna, it's so strange to see you again! You look just the same as the day I left, I swear. And I thought I would never see anyone again from... from home." His voice grew quiet, and he looked away from her then for a moment, eyes directed at nothing. Alanna bit her lip, feeling a little churlish at her curtness, and leaned forward to pat his hand awkwardly.

"We're going home. You're coming back with me." She said, hearing the briskness in her voice and hoping he couldn't hear the emotion that ran through it. "It's all decided. Everyone's well, and they're looking forward to welcoming you back. Jon even kept all your books safe, although I think some students from the university may have borrowed a few of them from time to time. Whatever has kept you here... whatever has stopped you from coming back to us, we'll work it out."

He raised an eyebrow at that, and the corner of his mouth turned up in wry humour. "Will we? I can't imagine what you think I've done."

"Some stupid, fool-beggared thing that you obviously can't fix on your own." She returned with the same sharpness, and he grinned lazily at that, not taking offence at her tone.

"Ah yes, well that's true." He sat back, legs crossed with exaggerated grace, and gestured to his own face in a player's gesture. "And unless you're a different woman now, my dear Lioness, I imagine you've already caught sight of the end result of my little adventure here in the mountains..."

Alanna sighed, and rested her head on cupped hands, violet eyes unfocused for a moment as she looked to see what she already knew. Still, the result made her blink and sit up straight. "There's almost as much bronze in your gift as black. That's someone else's magic in your veins. How are you not burning up in front of my eyes?"

"Because it balances out. There's as much black as bronze in Daine's." Nuamir said, and started explaining everything, starting from his disastrous spying mission and ending with their arrival in Hazelle's fort. Alanna listened with wide eyes, sending many incredulous curses his way at odd moments and pausing her tirade only to narrow her gaze and stare at his combined aura again.

"Why did you do it?" She demanded, interrupting his description of sneaking through the town with a thud as she slammed her foot against the floorboards. "Not her... not this Daine giving you her magic. It sounds like she didn't know what she was doing – I can believe that! - and there wasn't much you could have done to stop her, anyway. But you know what you're doing. Why did you do it?"

"I wanted to help her." He said simply. Seeing the redhead open her mouth again, he held up a hand. "No, Alanna. You don't understand. I wanted to help her, and I knew that I was dying. I thought that, even if I wouldn't be there to protect her, I could still keep her a little safer. She didn't know what I was doing. I made her drink my gift, in this willow tea that she seemed to be endlessly making."

He smiled strangely then, and then looked up. "She didn't even know how to meditate, then, so I showed her how to do it. And the hawk... the... the darkness... saw that I was weak, and it came to claim me. I wanted to let it. I was going to let it." He shuddered and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, looking around for another log to throw on the fire. Alanna scowled at the distraction and booted the one nearest to her onto the blaze, making ash explode against the chimney and both of them cough.

"Much as I enjoy this little suicidal heart-to-heart..." Alanna said curtly, not apologising for the fire, "I notice you're still walking among us mortals."

"Yes, because Daine did... something. She gave me her gift. She didn't have to make a potion or cast any runes, she just did it. She linked us together. Magic flows between us like... like the fire between those logs. It doesn't make any sense."

He took a deep breath and glanced upwards, his eyes shadowed somewhere between concern and guilt. Alanna remembered what the maid had said about her friend fighting with the girl and watched him speculatively. He looked tired, she supposed, and her mulish mind tried to make her believe it was lovesickness that made him wan. Not being seperated from his friends or his homeland, or cursed, or possessed by some chaotic shape-shifting creature. She scoffed mentally at those thoughts and rubbed her eyes. Of course he was tired. Half of his gift had been leeched away.

"And it's getting stronger." Numair spoke as if he could hear her thoughts and she blinked, surprised. He was still looking up, his fingers steepled absently as if he wasn't aware that he was doing it. "We can hear each other's thoughts, if we wish it, and we always know where the other person is. Always. She's in the attic right now. If I closed my eyes and concentrated I could probably even tell you why she's there, even though I don't have a clue! But Daine doesn't know what she did to cause this, and neither of us can actually use our magic beyond the most simple spells without being attacked by the... the madness. So we can't fix it. And, at present, I don't see the profit in even making an attempt. The last thing Hazelle needs is two feral mages going on a rampage from her kitchen door!"

"Is that why you're not talking to her? Because you're giving up?" Alanna heard the words coming from her own undiplomatic mouth before she could stop them. Numair looked down, his eyes level, and this time there was a flat wall between him and his old friend when he icily answered. 

"No. _I'm_ not giving up. Whatever Daine decides to do is her own damn business." 

"Can she... this Daine... can she use your magic?" Alanna asked, and her voice was unusually distant. Numair shot a glance at her, wondering if she was prying, and then shook his head in confusion when he realised that she wasn't.

"What? She wouldn't know how."

"You're betting a lot on her stupidity." The woman muttered, folding her arms and trying not to be surly.

"Who said she was stupid?" Numair snapped, surprised and hurt by his friend's reaction. As angry as he still was at Daine, he had to correct Alanna. "She spent most of her life as a slave, being treated like a dog – or worse – and thinking her own magic was some kind of curse. She's _ignorant_ , but she's not stupid." 

He tugged at his nose, trying to guess at Alanna's train of thought, and paled when he remembered the most famous legend that followed her around. If he hadn't seen gift-sharing before, then she certainly had: in the blood of her twin brother, and her worst enemy, as they conspired to destroy the heart of Tortall. He breathed out rapidly, leaning forward and trying to convince her that it was nothing like that, even though now he could understand the suspicion in her eyes.

"What are you thinking, that she is... is scheming to steal my magic? That's not the problem here, not even close. The problem is the hawk, and the wolf. Both of us spent too long being controlled by them for either to be banished by a few hopeful spells. If we'd caught them straight away, then perhaps this would be a very different story, but it isn't. So leave Daine out it. What happened to me is my own fault."

Alanna rubbed her head as if it hurt. "So if I tried to break all these shields out of your mind, you're saying you'd attack me?"

"With every ounce of my strength." Numair said, his voice sad. "And even if I can't use my magic, Alanna, the hawk has no such qualms."

"I see." She bit her lip. "And you have this girl's magic, too. You're far stronger than I am. We'll have to wait until we're back in Tortall – until there are more mages."

"That was my conclusion, too." He bit his lip and stared up at the ceiling. "But only If it's absolutely necessary to do so. I'd rather not return home just to kill my friends. It's one of the reasons I stayed away."

"Yes, well I've saved up several lectures about that." Alanna said in tart tones. "I just have to think for a few more words that mean 'stupid', 'pigheaded' and 'dolt', and then you'll be hearing them."

He grinned and sat up straight. "It is good to see you again, Alanna."

"Yes." She smiled back, and grabbed his hand to drag him upright. "Well, come on then, my fine idiot. They must serve food somewhere in this house, and you are going to show me where!"

888

The lady knight didn't meet Daine for the first time until the party that night, where she was told the girl's name was Annette. Hazelle had asked what pseudonym the lioness wanted to be introduced as, and took a horrified step back when the knight flatly refused to take one.

"I'm here as me." She said, folding her arms stubbornly. "I'm not playing your games. They know you have friends in Corus, and they're not actually sealing off this valley yet. There's no reason why I should hide away from them. And let's face it: I'm a short, muscular redhead woman with purple eyes and a Tortallan accent. Mithros' shield, who else would I be?"

"Then why are you visiting me? What's the story?" Hazelle asked impatiently, recovering her poise. Alanna shrugged, and a wolfish grin made its slow way across her face.

"Let them draw their own conclusions. We'll see which ones start sweating!"

The lady grinned back at her, one plucked eyebrow raised as she considered the room. It was already filling with nobles, milling around and warming themselves by the fires before they sat down at the tables that were set out for cards. Karenna had arrived a full half hour before anyone else and had dragged Numair into a warm corner, where she was speaking earnestly. Occassionally the high trill of a breathy laugh drifted over to the door. Her father looked on indulgently.

"He lets her come here unchaperoned, now. Well, I suppose she thinks she's landed him for a husband." Hazelle's voice was distant, but there was a grain of pity in it as she smiled a gentle greeting at another guest. "She's told us nearly everything about her father, except who he answers to, and Numair's going to try to get that out of her tonight. I suppose he'll ask who will be the most honoured guest at their wedding."

"Wedding?" A small voice asked, and then stopped as if the speaker didn't want to know the answer to the question. Alanna turned as a slight, dark-haired girl in a wine-red dress ducked her eyes down and curtseyed a wobbly greeting to their host. "My lady."

"Annette." The genuine warmth in Hazelle's voice was matched when she reached out her shrunken hands and drew the girl up, brushing a finger affectionately along her cheek. "That was very prettily done, my dear, although your ankle still wobbled shamefully."

"I know." The girl sighed, looking genuinely remorseful for a second, and then a spark of devilish playfulness flitted across her eyes. "I'm just so awed to be in the presence of so many res-plendant lords and ladies." She gasped a little over the word, but managed to finish her sentence, and then laughed when Hazelle cackled.

Alanna tried not to stare at the girl. She had pictured a Daine in her mind from the stories the maid, Hazelle and Numair had told her, and the picture was nothing like this confident, playful young woman! She'd imagined a shrunken, sulky creature who ducked her head at the slightest threat. Numair had said she barely spoke, so Alanna imagined a silent creature, but one with sly eyes taking in everything around her. She'd imagined a moth, and instead she had been shown a butterfly. The girl was small, it was true, but it looked like she was naturally slight rather than half-starved. She held her head up straight, and although she glanced uneasily at the stranger it seemed more like youthful shyness than fear. And the girl spoke with a quick wit that only stumbled over longer words, and even then it was only when you were listening that you could hear it.

"Annette," Hazelle said affectionately, "This is Alanna."

The girl's eyes widened, and she stared at the woman for a split second. Then, with impetuous haste, she grabbed hold of Alanna's hand and dragged her away from the door, out of sight of the other guests, and flung her arms around her. She even managed to kiss the stunned knight's cheek before Alanna pried her off, and Daine apologised, laughing.

"I'm sorry, but... but I'm so happy to finally meet you! I'm so grateful to you!" She looked as if she were going to kiss her again, and made an effort to stop herself. Her grey eyes shone. "We would have starved if you hadn't helped us, you know, or frozen... it was so cold on the mountains, and we were fair set to die of exposure, but then..."

"Annette." Hazelle's voice held a warning, and she touched the girl's shoulder. Daine reddened and stepped back, laughing awkwardly.

"I'm glad to meet you." Alanna said formally, and found that she almost meant it. Her mind was reeling. The girl's impetuous affection reminded her of her children, and she had to remind herself that this was a dangerous criminal who had been locked up for her crimes. The idea was ludicrous, and she found that it turned a lot of the carefully made, logical plans she'd come up with on her journey on their heads. She's thought the girl could help them fight, but this creature didn't look like she would follow orders.

Daine smiled as if she could read her thoughts, and the knight caught a glimpse of the genuine intelligence under the overlarge eyes. "Oh, this isn't me. This is the way Hazelle taught me to be. I'll be myself again in the morning, and then we can talk properly." She caught Alanna's hand and looked earnestly at her. "Promise me we will? You have to help him, and he won't tell you everything..." She bit her lip as if she'd said too much when Alanna's eyes narrowed.

"I promise." Alanna said, her voice guarded, and was rewarded with another smile.

Ignoring her own slip of the tongue, Daine rolled her shoulders back and winced at the bite of her corset against her back. "Tonight I have to be Annette, right M'lady?"

"You could retain some manners for breakfast, you know." Hazelle sighed, and then winked. Daine smiled back, curtseyed again to both of them as a farewell, and left. Alanna breathed out in one sigh, barely knowing what to think any more.

"You ask me to protect her, Numair asks me to leave her out of it, but she seems more determined than either of you to actually sort things out." The knight said, her voice a sullen monotone. "It seems to me that everyone's in a sorry muddle around here."


	25. Guilt 5

"I think I need to congratulate you!"

The voice was young, bright, and Karenna wheeled around with a wide smile. It froze when she took in the speaker – the skinny, dark waif who seemed to haunt the parties like a sullen ghost. Daine looked up at the taller woman levelly, her own face fixed in a smile which followed her words.

"Congratulate me, Miss Annette?"

"Yes! I hear we'll soon be burning some extra incense to the mother and throwing rose petals at your feet." The words were playful, teasing, but there was a dark undertone to them that made Karenna's eyes narrow. Perhaps she'd just imagined it because she disliked the strange little creature, but she couldn't make herself believe the girl was being sincere.

Still, she was Leto's cousin. Karenna forced herself to take a breath, and indicated that they should sit down at one of the card tables together. When she dealt she noticed that, although the smaller woman could play cards capably enough, she held them as if she was scared of damaging them. It made Karenna feel better, somehow. This mysterious country noble was clearly not such a catch, if her family couldn't even afford cards.

"How did you hear about it?" She asked, raising a pointed eyebrow mischievously. Annette hid her expression behind her fanned out cards, and her eyes were wide.

"So it's true?" She gasped, "You're getting married?"

"True in all but the words," Karenna whispered comfortably. Seeing the girl's brow wrinkle in confusion, she sighed and tapped the card deck against the table. "We've reached an understanding. He's just waiting for the right time to actually ask me. Properly, as it were."

"Oh!" Annette reddened and looked at her cards, too distracted to tell whether they were diamonds or hearts. She had trouble playing this game with Hazelle on a good day, so she had no hope of working it out tonight. She put the thick rectangles down on the table, giving up, and met Karenna's eyes. "I'm... I'm very happy for you." She said.

"No you're not," Karenna laughed, and rested a finger against the other girl's lips. "Hush! I know you don't like me. Maybe we'll get to know each other one day. We'll be friends, hm? But you need to practice your lying before the big day!"

Annette blinked and then sat back, her expression going from flustered to a kind of detached curiosity. "Do you love him?"

Karenna gasped. "Well, that was a blunt question!"

"You didn't answer it." Annette said quietly. Karenna smiled and played with a ribbon that laced around one of her cuffs.

"I'd be happy with him." She said eventually. "There. Are you content?"

"Would he be happy with you?"

The question was quick, biting, and Karenna was stung by it. "What? Why would he ever marry me if he didn't think he'd be happy?"

"I don't know." Annette sounded lost for a moment, and then her smile was back on her face. "I'm sorry, he's like a brother to me, you see, and..."

"He isn't your brother. He won't be your brother. He'll be my husband." Karenna said viciously, suddenly, violently wanting the girl to leave her alone. "It's not your place to pry into his life like this. I know he's spoiled you, but I won't. I can promise you that..." she turned her head distractedly as a new guest was shown into the hall, and froze. "Is that...?"

"Sir Alanna of Olau and Pirate's Swoop, King's Champion of Tortall." The servant who announced the nobles gasped over the long list of names, but waved in the newest guest with a flamboyant arm gesture to show her high and noble station. Alanna rose to the ceremony by striding in wearing clothes that were a slightly smarter version of her travelling clothes, a shirt crumpled from being stuffed into a saddlebag for weeks, and a scowl that defied anyone to challenge her choice of dress. Daine wondered fleetingly if Bennitte was rocking quietly in a corner somewhere. The maid despaired when her young charge had a single hair out of place at these parties.

Daine hid a smile. Despite whatever else she was feeling, she had to admire the knight's gall. She strode around the room as if she owned it, interrupting conversations with boyish ease and capturing the attention of the whole room.

"Excuse me." Karenna said, her voice unusually quiet. Daine looked up, surprised, and saw that the woman's father was beckoning her to him with an impatient hand.

Daine watched with curious eyes as they huddled together, the man whispering frantically to his daughter for a moment, until she broke away from him and shook her head. Gesturing at the card table where Numair was sitting, she raised her chin and said something in an obstinate voice which carried across the room. The words were swallowed by the chatter, but the father scowled and then shrugged, striding out of the room without another word. Daine watched as Karenna took a deep breath, smoothing down her dress with one hand as she waited for her nerves to steady, and then the fake smile was back on her face.

Daine barely saw the smile. Her attention was captured by the expression on the father's face as he turned back and looked at Numair, and then Alanna. His eyes narrowed, and as he stepped out of the room a thoughtful expression spread across his face. The girl shuddered, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around herself defensively, and took a deep breath. She recognised that expression. It was the look he'd had in the prison when someone had broken the rules. And she recognised the same sly, cunning gleam in his daughter's eyes, as she turned their beautiful gaze on to Numair and smiled.

888

It was early in the morning, and the party was ending. Karenna had only been gone a few minutes before Numair realised he desperately needed some air. She'd gone, and with her had come the crushing realisation that she would never return. The facade he'd been playing for weeks hadn't felt heavy until that moment, and suddenly he felt how caught up in it he'd been. For days he'd done nothing except think of ways to get Karenna to speak to him and now... suddenly... she had. She had told him the name of the man her father answered to, and suddenly she was no longer important. He kissed her hand as she left, and she waved a diamond-shining hand merrily at him from her carriage.

He needed some fresh air. The guests were all shuffling away now, groaning as they left the warm fireplaces to emerge into the cold, icy air of the gardens. He welcomed it, throwing a fur around his shoulders impatiently and strode into the garden, his head reeling. The cold hit him like a shock of water, and he shivered and tried to get his spinning mind to clear.

A servant he didn't recognise followed him down the path, careful on the ice-streaked stones, and handed him a note. Numair took it and nodded his thanks, wondering if Hazelle had a new mission for him. It would be like her not to waste a single minute!

He unfolded the note with cold-drugged fingers, recognising the musky, coiling perfume that drifted from it before Karenna's graceful handwriting swam into focus. The soft torchlight spat a violent, bright flare, and he saw her words in a single, sickened heartbeat.

You lied to me.

"Look out!" The voice was shrill, harsh, and Nuamir ducked instinctively as something whistled over his head. There was a shriek, then a man yelled, and suddenly there were two figures in the dark shadows of the garden. He hadn't even known there was anyone there, but it was as if the trees had suddenly come alive. The two figures clung to each other grimly- two faceless silhouettes catching at each others' hands, trying to trip each other, stopping the other shadow from reaching for weapons. And then the voice shouted again, and he recognised it this time – Daine.

"There's another one! Behind...!" She stopped with a gasp as the shadow she fought spun her around, and she lost her footing. Numair took a step forward to help her, and then heard the crackle of ice behind him as someone disturbed the branches. Reeling around, he crouched down and felt the snow bite frozen teeth into his fingers as a second arrow sped harmlessly over him. This time he drew his belt knife and charged, not giving the archer time to reload before he crashed into him. The man cried out and fell backwards.

"What's going on out here?" An imperious voice rang out, and there was the sound of running footsteps slipping and sliding through the ice. Numair heard them, grimly grabbing at the archer's flailing hand and then throwing the man's dagger harmlessly away. The archer cursed and spat in the mage's face. Numair recoiled backwards just as the archer swung his fist around, and the blow knocked him reeling into the snow.

He launched himself forward almost instantly, blinking grit from his eyes as he reached for the archer. The other man twisted in his grip, slipping as he found his footing, and then the fabric in Numair's frozen fingers was dragged from his grip. He pulled himself upright and took off after the man, but the archer was far faster than him, and melted into the dark garden in seconds. Numair stood for a moment, breathing heavily as heavy footsteps crashed around him. Men streamed past – burly men he recognised from their servants livery – and chased the archer into the trees.

"Daine..." Numair breathed, recoiling from the darkness to run back up the path. Was she alive? She'd been here, fighting another man twice her size. He'd sent her flying with barely any effort at all! He blinked and irritably brushed slush and dirt from his eyes, but he couldn't see either of them.

"They ran through there..." Hazelle's voice was too high, frightened, and she gripped the stone rail of the garden steps with white hands. She looked around for her guards, but they'd chased after the only attacker they'd seen. She turned wide blue eyes on the mage. Numair nodded once, and ran in the direction she had pointed.

The trail was easy to follow, but pitch black in the night. Numair followed it blindly, knowing through their link where Daine was and simply going to her. From what he could see in the dim light, the man had tried to flee like the archer, but Daine must have sped after him on god-blessed feet. Branches were broken and lay across the trail where the imprint of a fallen man was often clear in the snow. After a few hundred meters he could hear them, and sped up. The sounds of breaking branches were heavy in the dead winter night, and he could hear the man cursing roundly, but there was no sound from Daine. When he finally caught up with them he saw why. The man was swearing and flailing around as the girl clung to the back of his neck doggedly with her arms wrapped around his throat, legs constricting his waist. Every time he tried to hurl her off she would twist, or lean backwards, throwing him off balance and cutting off his air supply.

"Bitch!" The man howled, "Get... off... me!" He stopped absolutely still for a moment, and while Daine was confused he hurled himself backwards against the ground with all his might. She cried out as she was crushed against the ground, losing her hold on him as he clambered dizzily to his feet and kicked out at her blindly, winded from his own attack.

"Stop!" Numair ran forward and struck the man with the first thing his hand fell on – a broken branch. It exploded into icy shards against the man's shoulder and he yelled out in pain, clutching the dislocated joint with his other hand and reeling to face the new threat. He sized up Numair for a moment, breathing heavily in weariness and pain, and when the man's eyes flicked downwards to the crumpled body of the girl he dived away into the undergrowth, vanishing into the night.

Numair let him go. He ran forwards instantly, picking Daine up and praying to any gods that she was alright. She blinked at him for a moment, and then brushed snow from her hair and said in a surprisingly normal voice, "Well, he won't be coming back."

"Not without his friends," Numair said darkly, and helped her to her feet. "Thank you, Daine. How many times have you saved my life now? I'm losing count."

"As many times as you've done something so cursed foolish..." she started, and then seemed to catch her breath. "Well, you...you're... safe!" She gasped, and laughed hysterically. It was too loud in the silent woods, and she winced and put a hand to her forehead. "Oh, I'm glad. But how'd you not hear them sneakin' up on you? Dolt."

"I was distracted." He frowned and moved her hand away from her head, seeing the raised weal that was already angrily swelling over one eye. He took a handful of snow and compacted it in his hands until it was solid, then handed it to her to hold over her head. She smiled and took it, sighing when it numbed her headache.

"Should you even be walking?" He asked. She pulled a face.

"I've been beat'n worse." For all her bravado she had to fight to keep the words from slurring, and he walked a little closer to her. It was the closest they'd been in weeks, since they'd last argued, and he was surprised how normal it felt. When he took her hand and her slight fingers closed around his he was suddenly aware how much he'd missed this. Missed her. Her hystericall laughter had faded into a companionable silence, and she began to shiver. He turned to ask if she was cold, and saw that she was in shock, the bruise growing on her head.

"Talk to me, magelet." He told her gently, squeezing her hand. She opened her mouth, thought for a moment, and then looked at their linked hands.

"I didn't... let... the wolf..." she said, smiling strangely up at him. "N't this time."

"Why not? You'd've been safer." He asked. He'd said it automatically, trying to keep her awake, and then realised what she'd said. He winced at the honesty in her reply.

"Di'n't want you... angry at me...'gain." She mumbled the last word sleepily, the ice falling from her fingers as she swayed, and he grabbed her to stop her fainting into the snow.

"I wasn't angry at you." He told her, lifting her easily into his arms. She made an odd sound and he smiled, recognising an argument even when she was barely conscious. He stood for a moment, resting his cheek against the crown of her head as he realised that he was telling the absolute truth. His voice was soft, almost wondering when he said, "No, I mean it. I was angry at myself."

"You... didn't do... anything." She whispered, so softly he could barely hear her.

"I nearly lost you," He shivered at the memory of her spirit dancing away from his hands, and held her tighter. "Don't you know that it would have been the worst mistake of my life?"

The bruise on Daine's head was livid when he got nearer to the house, and he brushed away some of the icy dirt from her face with impatient gentleness. As he was walking towards the door he stopped, and without looking around, spoke to a horrified looking Hazelle.

"It stops. I'm done. It ends, tonight."

"Yes." She whispered, her voice stunned. "Of course."

"And you will never ask me to do anything like that again." He bit off the statement curtly, and didn't look around to see her shamefaced nod.


	26. Guilt 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s what you were letting that girl into your head for? That’s why you were letting an untrained mage cast dangerous, _illegal_ magic without warding yourself?” Alanna’s voice was bitingly sarcastic. “Oh, well that makes it all fine then, doesn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates! I've moved house and haven't got internet access yet. Thank you all for your reviews!

By the time Bennette had healed the welt on her forehead, Daine was shaking too violently to speak. 

The warmth of the house had brought her out of her faint, and even before Numair put her down beside the fire in the main room the maids descended on the girl like a flock of clucking hens. The girl's eyes fluttered open and she gasped, half-panicked by the way they crowded around her even in her delirium. She shoved at the anxious women uselessly with trembling hands until Bennette appeared like a wrathful god and chased them away. 

“What happened?” She demanded, her usual deferent tone clipped. 

“She fainted. There was a fight...” Numair started, but the woman cut him off with an imperious gesture and touched the girl’s cheek with the flat of her fingers. Daine pulled away from her touch, gasping in narrow breaths as her eyes flared wildly. The healer scowled at her. 

“None of that, miss.” She said briskly, and took her knife from her purse. Seeing Numair’s expression, she cursed and lightly cuffed his cheek. “She can’t breathe, you nincompoop. They look fair pretty, I suppose, but it’s cursed hard to panic in a corset.” 

Gesturing for him to set the girl down in one of the long seats that adorned the room, the healer unfastened the back of her snow-stained red dress and swiftly cut through the tight laces which had shaped the bodice. As soon as the laces snapped Daine gasped in a deep breath, and then another, until her panicked shallow gasps began to ease. 

“I wouldn’t have thought of that,” Numair said, “I thought she hit her head.”

“Oh, she did,” the woman said grimly, “But our Annette wouldn’t be fazed by that little bump.” 

She rested her hand on the girl’s head, and it began to glow with a soft, nurturing light. Daine shivered, and the healer glanced up at a maid with an unspoken order. The door clicked shut behind her as the woman left to fetch dry clothes. 

“You’re soaked, too.” Bennette said quietly, “We’ll take care of her. Go and get warm.” 

Numair hesitated, “When she wakes up...” he started, and then sat back down again when Daine cried out. Something in her dream made her weakly try to push the healer’s hand away, and when Bennette obstinately refused to move a tear coursed down the girl’s cheek. “No, I won’t go. She’s terrified.” He murmured, taking her flailing hand and holding it between his own. “Why? She was fine in the garden.” 

“Fear’s a funny thing.” The healer said, giving up trying to heal and brushing her hands off on her knees. “Sometimes it only bites us when we’re safe.” 

“He’ll come back...” Daine whispered, eyelashes fluttering like moth wings as she tried to open her eyes. “He’ll... they’ll...” 

“You’re in the safest place in the whole valley.” Bennette told her in a soft but unrelenting tone. “Them as attacks us by night won’t dare risk it in the day. You’re safe, duckling.” 

“Not me...” Her eyes filled with tears, unseeing in her half-dream. “Not me. Already broke me...” 

“Now you’re just talking nonsense.” The healer hauled the girl upright and leaned her against the back of the seat. “If these men do come back, I’ll give them a piece of my mind for scaring you into this silliness! Now, are you going to let me fix your head, young lady?” 

“Yes ma...” the girl mumbled, responding to the tone of Bennette’s voice. The woman smiled triumphantly and pressed her hand back onto Daine’s forehead, and although she couldn’t chase away the shock, she made short work of the bruise that was purpling above one eye. After a few minutes Daine opened her eyes wide and blinked at her, slowly raising trembling fingers to her head. 

“Better?” The healer smiled and made a show of dusting her hands off. “Well! Now let’s get you dry.” She reached for the ragged sleeve of Daine’s dress and gaped when the girl frantically shook her head, clutching the torn fabric to her skin.

“I can go, if you like.” Numair said quietly. Daine shook her head urgently and looked at the floor, trying stubbornly to stop her teeth from chattering. The room was warm and her clothes had nearly dried anyway, but she couldn’t stop herself from shaking. A vague, nauseating horror lurked in her stomach and every time she tried to speak to them it choked her, and all she could do was shiver. She drew her legs up onto the chair and curled up against Numair, burying her face in his shoulder and wishing the terror away. 

A gentle hand rested against her head, and his voice was soft. “You need to tell us what happened, Daine. We need to know what to expect. Are you in danger? Were you recognised?” 

She shook her head again to the second question, but hesitated at the first. Giving her a little time to breathe, Numair softly told her that Hazelle and the soldiers were scouring the grounds for the archer, and that Alanna (in a fit of righteous anger) was scrying the entire valley for a hint of whoever sent them. 

“So, you see, you’re safe, and everyone knows what’s going on now,” he finished, “But we don’t know what happened. Do you know who it was? How did you know they were going to attack me?” 

Daine shut her eyes in frustration, unable to even think of how to begin. If she spoke out loud she might be sick, and she would definitely descend into gibbering nonsense before she could tell him anything worthwhile. 

_My words are gone!_ She thought bitterly, and felt the odd familiar stream of bronze magic carrying the words between them.

“They’ll come back, sweetheart.” He murmured, brushing a curl away from her eyes. His own mindvoice replied to her.   
_Tell me like this, then, if it’s easier._

After so many days of silence Numair's magic felt patient and oddly intimate to Daine, pitched against the whirl of a mind that felt raw and vulnerable. Even though she couldn't stop shaking, Daine felt herself beginning to feel safe for the first time in hours. 

She took a deep breath, and let the memories come back. 

She only meant to draw from them, to remember and repeat back to her friend what had happened, but as soon as she let them surface in her mind the images grew so strong that they poured out of her. All of them, every thought and emotion and sickening detail, fled from her mind into his, and all she could do was relive them again through his eyes. 

_A flash of gold, the strange watery sparkle of a jewelled headdress, and a candle flickers in the shallow sconce nearby. The wax smells sweet, hot, and you feel the shimmer of heat against your hand as you lean on the wall. The wood is cold under your fingertips, and you hesitate –_

_\- oh maybe I should go back, what if it’s nothing and this is just... –_

_\- you hesitate, and you step outside, because something just tells you that you must. It insists, like a hot stone in your stomach, refusing to move, and your mouth fills with the taste of ash. The snow is crisp and sharp under your feet, and you remember too late that the shoes you are wearing are soft, and delicate, and now they are spoiled._

_\- sorry -_

_\- the thought is fleeting, and your feet quickly go numb, and you can be silent on light toes. The ice glitters in the moonlight around you, and the soft drip of falling clumps of snow showers from the trees as you near them. Your eyes are sharp, quickly shaping the shadows into shapes, and you see the footprints clearly. A man’s prints, heavy and ponderous, deeper at the toes as if he walked quickly._

_\- perhaps he’s just going home, or for a walk, and you imagined it, you stupid girl...-  
Fear. _

_They occur simultaneously, but the emotion rises first, red and grey in the darkness. The sound of weeping comes next, drifting through the garden and barely underscored by the deep gravel of the voice, and..._

_(Creature, you aren’t worth the rags we dress you in! You killed that horse, you did it on purpose!)_

_You hear a sound, a harsh slap of skin on flesh, and you raise your shaking hand to remind yourself that it isn’t you that is being struck. Not this time. But the voice! It's so familiar, so spiteful._

_You loathe that voice with every scrap of your being._

_You creep closer, not trusting your ears, and peer through the trees. They’ve lit a mage light, a soft glow that seems to make the clearing even colder, and the girl they hold hangs limply from the soldier’s arms like a rag doll. You don’t look at her, though. You can’t. You strain to see the face of the other man, because..._

_\- ...but he’s Annette’s da and I’ve seen him before, but not up close, and I’ve never heard him speak, but I never thought..._

_...if I didn’t recognise him, then perhaps he couldn’t recognise me..._

_His face tilts up to the light, and dark shadows play across his eye sockets, and he’s smiling sadistically._

_No_

_No no no..._

_You scrub at your face with your hands, harsh frozen fingers tearing at the skin, but there’s no mistake. He..._

_(Don’t untie her. Leave her there.)_

_(Coarse twine cuts into your wrists and burns against the skin. The stone wall is freezing against your bare back, and the floor is slippery with your blood.)_

_(Even the guards look down in horror and it hurts, mama, it hurts, make it go away... and their eyes are full of pity and disgust but he laughs, and the shadows fill his eyes, and I think the black god has come for me... I beg, I plead, make it stop, please, please, but only the guards answered, and only with the pity in their eyes..._

_...the black god left me, he left me alone there for three days until the laughing man returned and hurt me again... )_

_“We have our answers, Sir Orsille” The guard’s voice is rough, and you recognise..._

_... hatred? Pity? Distaste?..._

_...in his tone when he says, “Perhaps we should stop, now. There’s no need to keep torturing the girl.”_

_“She might be lying.”_

_No pity there. You shudder and wrap your arms around your stomach, knowing you’re not trembling because of the cold. You tell yourself_

_... pull yourself together, dolt!..._

_And something in you stands up at that, and is still, and you can stop shaking, because you need to be strong. There’s a girl in the clearing, and the men have her, and she needs help, and it’s that simple. Really, it is. You reach down carefully and your fingers find the brittle husk of a branch frozen from a tree. You lift it carefully._

_The girl has stopped crying, and hangs limply from the soldier’s arms again. He shakes her and mutters, “Fainted.”_

_The official’s long fingers scratched his chin idly. “Well, we know they’re onto us. Silly chit might not know much, but she knows who the lady Hazelle is friends with, at least.” He looked up speculatively, eyes made glassy by the moon. “I wonder how they found out? They wouldn’t have sent the lioness here for anything less than...”_

_You freeze, fingers icy around the branch as you strain to listen, but they’ve stopped talking. “Go and tell Karenna.” He says finally, and the soldier hesitates before dropping the girl to the frozen dirt. She crumples, and her face tilts upwards towards the light. You recognise her..._

_Hannah?_

_...from the kitchen, but her face is so bruised that you’re surprised you could see it. The snow wakes her up and she moans..._

_\- No, be quiet, don’t you know you shouldn’t speak? If you make a sound he... –_

_...and the official looks down. An odd expression crosses his face, and he crouches down next to the girl._

_-...not a sound, don't even cry. Especially not that. Because if you cry he... -_

_The girl moans and stirs, her hair dragging through the snow-laden mud as she struggles to wake up. His hand is unspeakably gentle when he touches her hair, brushes a trail of blood from her cheek, runs his fingernails across her throat._

_(There were rough calluses on his fingertips from riding but his touch was careful. He was almost loving, tenderly lifting my face between his hands and tracing the shape of the bruise that had swollen one of my eyes shut. He had told the guards to beat me because a horse had died. I thought he had given the guards the order because he had no stomach to do it himself. The horse belonged to some great lord, and it had taken fever so quickly I couldn’t save it._

_I thought, foolishly, that Orsille was kind. I didn’t fully know the type of men the prison attracted, then. I only understood later that they had all chosen to work there. But back then I was still naive enough to believe that they couldn’t all be monsters. _

_Orsille was silent, but I was so starved of any kindness that I heard false words in his caring touch - words that I had missed desperately since my ma had been torn away from me. He stroked the sweat-stained hair away from my eyes and untied me from the whipping post. I fell into his arms, so he carried me. I was fifteen, and half starved, and he carried me as easily as a child. Stupid, stupid child! I looked at his ash blonde hair and smiling eyes, and because I hadn’t seen him before I thought he was new. I thought he was different._

_He carried me to his room and set me down beside the fire. His hands were gentle, and he carefully cleaned away the traces of blood from my face. I felt my eyes sliding shut, as I grew sleepy and warm, and he ran his hand down my cheek and slowly, gently, rested it against my throat._

_“You killed my horse.” He said. His voice was pleasant._

_I was half asleep, drugged by the warmth and the tenderness. His words made a shock of horror run through me. I stared at him and he smiled. He pressed down with his hand and I remember his smile stayed there, widening in the reddish light until there were sharp teeth showing. I pushed at his hand, choking and trying to breathe but he never moved. When I clawed at his hand he caught my wrist and his nails bit into the flesh sharply enough to draw blood. He kept speaking and his voice was soft, and so friendly, and I struggled but the words still sounded like he was teasing me, and so I still didn't understand..._

_“Creature, you aren’t worth the rags we dress you in! You killed that horse, you did it on purpose!”_

_...and he never raised his voice. Never. Not even when...) _

_He twists the strand of the girl’s hair until it drags against her scalp, and her eyes fly open at the sharp pain._

_You can’t just stand here. You can’t. You can’t watch it happen to another person._

_You take a shallow breath and snap the branch you hold, feeling dry splinters fly into your palms as the frozen wood shatters. His head snaps around at the sound, and he stands up, walking cautiously in your direction. You circle around the clearing, and wait for him to vanish into the trees before you run towards the girl._

_She whimpers and stares at you, her eyes unfocused. “Wake up,” you breathe, “Please, he’ll come back soon.”_

_“Back?” Her voice is weak. Your fingertips are numb where you’re resting them against the ground, and you press them to her forehead. Her eyes flow open at the cold and her face begins to crumple. “They...!”_

_“Yes, I know.” You can’t help feeling impatient, wanting more than anything else to run away, but knowing you can’t leave this girl here. You know what he’ll do to her. “So you don’t want them to do it again, right?”_

_She shakes her head emphatically, and you pull her to her feet. Snow drips from her hair and she sways for a second, looking green in the moonlight._

_“Don’t be sick.” You say, and it sounds like the words are coming from someone else. You don’t recognise the distant voice. “We don’t have time.”_

_\- When did I become so... so... cold? -_

_“Thank you,” she whispers, and catches hold of your hand as you run. The branches whip biting ice into your face, and you want to raise the hand to protect your eyes, but you can’t make yourself let go. She’s younger than you, barely more than a child, but her hand dwarves yours. You run towards the amber lights of the house, and then you hear it._

_A crash of snow, a crump as it falls to the ground. Now your ears are alert you can hear footprints._

_“He’s following us!” The girl whimpers, and you shush her. Your own heart races, and your dress tangles between your legs, but being frightened won’t help you. You can’t stop yourself from running faster, though, knowing the cold in your stomach has nothing to do with the winter. And then you know. You know for sure..._

_-He knows we’re here. He’s going to catch us.-_

_-He doesn’t know there’s two of us.-_

_...fear... and the coldness, again, drifting over you like smoke. For a moment you can’t breathe. The sudden absence of fear is horrifying, because it’s so cold, so empty..._

_“Run,” you tell the girl, “Keep running. Go to the stables... they’re nearer. Don’t stop. Tell them what happened. Run.” And you tear your hand away from hers, and shove her onwards when she hesitates. “Run!”_

_The fear flickers like a candle flame. You know it’s there, but you can’t feel its heat. You draw a deep breath, and the cold stings your throat and nose. You slow down, and listen to the footsteps behind you. They slip in the snow, and grow louder, and you force yourself to walk. To breathe evenly. To be calm. The warm lights of the house are shading the trees when he finally catches up, and he skids to a halt in breathless confusion._

_“Why are you running?” You think of every lesson that Hazelle said to you, every habit she tried to nurture. Daine would run away, but you are not Daine. You are Annette, and you draw yourself up proudly._

_(Back straight, chin up)_

_You look at his sweaty face and cover a slight smile with your hand, fingers gracefully extended and not curled into frightened fists. The giggle sounds unnatural to you, but then all giggles sound strange in your ears. He pants and stares at you, and you feel the fear beginning to burn again when your eyes meet._

_He raises a hand..._

_(His hands wrapped around my throat but his voice never changed. He would have strangled me with that same slight smile dancing on his face...)_

_(The smile widened when he told me it had nothing to do with the horse. Hours after he first untied me from the whipping post he dragged me back there. The stone wall froze my back and the stones were icy under my bare feet but the tarred rope burned against my wrists. He dragged my hands over my head and left me there. He brushed the fresh blood and the tears from my cheeks with lazy, sated fingers and laughed mockingly at the utter betrayal in my eyes._

_Don't untie her, he told the guards. The shadows filled his laughing eyes. Leave her there. I think I'll keep this one._

_By then I understood. It had nothing to do with the horse. He did it, he said with a final sadistic grin,because he knew he could do anything he wanted.)_

_(He kissed my forehead so sweetly, so tenderly before he left that my eyes finally filled with tears.)_

_(Poor little wolf cub. Time to grow some teeth, my pet.)_

_...and he wipes sweat absently from his forehead. “Mistress Annette,” he manages, out of breath. “Aren’t you cold?”_

_“Cold?” You say sweetly. Your voice doesn't shiver. You taste bile in your throat but you answer him with laughter in your words. “Not at all. I needed the air. It was too hot in there, don’t you think?”_

_His eyes skim over you suspiciously, and you’re suddenly self conscious. You realise that the branches have torn tiny holes in your dress, and the red fabric is clinging to your legs, soaked in snow. You're still more like a lady than a creature, but you have to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around yourself defensively._

_“Seen all you wanted, have you?” You say tartly, your mouth dry. He stares at you levelly, his eyes shadowed sockets in the darkness. And suddenly, in a roaring crash, the fear returns. You can’t move, can’t breathe, and it’s because the torchlight flared, and your eyes meet his. The frozen air steams between you, and for a second you wonder if you can see recognition in his eyes. He smiles, so slowly it’s painful._

_“You’re walked far from home, haven’t you?” He says in a voice that is too light to be anything but dark. He has dismissed you; you’re not a threat, and as he’s walking away he waves a hand idly at you, as if your paralysed legs could possibly move at the gesture. “Run back, mistress, and see the gift I’ve sent your cousin!”  
Sudden..._

_...? Terror? Weakness?_

_... you gasp in a breath, and run... and you think...you hope... you pray..._

“Stop!” 

The word was too harsh, and Daine realised it was because it had been spoken aloud. 

“Stop it!” Strong hands closed on her shoulder and dragged her to her feet, pulling her away from the chair until she tripped and fell, still almost blind to the real world after the luminous illusion of her memory. Behind her she dimly heard the sound of retching, and knew instinctively that the shock of being brought out of their link – and the sickening weight of fear - was affecting Numair, too. 

“What were you _doing_?” Alanna demanded, shaking her. Daine rubbed her eyes frantically, trying to see. The dim orange roar in the corner of her eye must be the fire. She drew a breath and felt her throat close up painfully. 

“Tell me what you did, girl!” No wonder she was called the Lioness: she almost roared when she was furious. There was an undertone of real panic in her voice, though, and Daine thought that she was worried for Numair more than anything. She felt the woman’s hands on her shoulders again, but could barely hear Alanna’s voice until another broke across her tirade. 

“Alanna, leave her alone!” Numair drew a ragged breath – the words had clearly cost him an effort – and the accusing hands fell from Daine’s shoulders as if they’d been scalded. The man’s voice was quieter now he knew the knight was listening, but they held a vein of iron. “I _asked_ her to do it. Don’t be so damned suspicious. Dear Mynoss, if you want to fight someone then find the people who attacked us!” 

“We did.” Alanna said grimly, breathing heavily as she regained her temper. “They’re dead.” 

“Dead!” The voice was Hazelle’s. Daine blearily made out her silvery silhouette walking across the room. She rubbed her eyes, and some of the room swam into focus. Alanna nodded, her face set. 

“They attacked a girl – the sister of one of the hostlers. By the time we’d tracked the attackers down I couldn’t control them... I didn’t have soldiers any more, I had a lynch mob. Those men won’t attack anyone else...” she sighed, “But we won’t get any information from them.”

“We know who they were.” Numair said, his voice shaking slightly. “That’s what...” 

“That’s what you were letting that girl into your head for? That’s why you were letting an untrained mage cast dangerous, _illegal_ magic without warding yourself?” Alanna’s voice was bitingly sarcastic. “Oh, well that makes it all fine then, doesn’t it?” 

“I said it was my idea.” Numair muttered, rubbing his head as if it ached. “Leave it alone, Alanna.” 

She opened her mouth to argue, and then took in his wan appearance and seemed to think better of it. “Well, I’m going to go and talk to the sister. Bennette has her, but she’s probably healed her by now.” 

She turned on her heel and left, unable to stop herself from taking one last accusing glance at Daine. Hazelle pursed her lips and followed her, eyes speculative. The old lady was so wrapped up in her thoughts she almost tripped over the edge of the carpet, and she barely even noticed the danger. Her normal playful air was quiet and serious, and the sight of her in such deep concern was almost as unsettling as the attack had been. 

“I’m sorry.” Daine said as soon the door closed, her voice almost inaudible. The girl’s eyes fixed on Numair. There was a strange sadness in her gaze. “I’m sorry that you had to see all of... of that. I didn’t know it would happen. I didn't want you to know any of that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please forgive me.” 

He looked up, and his eyes were so dark with pity that she flinched and had to look away. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. Perhaps he sensed that, because although his words were careful he didn’t apologise, or recite any empty platitudes. He just asked, “Is that what you remember all the time? When you see the officials?”

She looked down at her hands and answered honestly. “N... No. Not all of them. Ors... he was the worst one.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and shuddered. “He’s the one in my nightmares. I see him a lot. But I didn’t recognise his face until tonight. Isn’t that odd?” 

He sat next to her, unusually silent for a few minutes as he thought. Some colour was gradually coming back into his cheeks, but he still looked ill. Finally, in a quiet voice, he said, “Daine, I need you to promise me something.” 

“Promise?” She asked, confused. He nodded. 

“You can’t put yourself in danger like that again. Promise me you won’t.” 

She blinked. She’d thought he was going to say something about her using the magic. He looked at her steadily, waiting for her to agree, but she found herself shaking her head. “What if you’re in danger?” 

“Then we’ll fight it together.” He reached out to take her hand and held it earnestly. “Promise me, Daine.” 

Daine opened her mouth, and then closed it. “I can’t.” She said finally. He stared at her incredulously, and she swallowed. “I can’t make a promise when I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it. You won’t always be there.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked, baffled. She smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder. 

“Silly. You won’t always want me bothering you, you know.” She yawned and closed her eyes. “We should go to sleep. It’s nearly morning.” 

“Don’t change the subject.” Numair’s voice was sharp and he pulled away from her. “If you’d been recognised tonight by that... that _bastard_ , then...” 

“Do you think that girl is alright? The one whose brother made the lynch mob?” She interrupted. He bit off his words as she told him, “If I hadn’t put myself in danger she’d still be out there. With... with Orsille. So, you know, I’d do that again in a heartbeat, and so would you. And I wouldn’t be stopped by a promise. Promises are just silly words that you only remember when you break them.” 

He was silent for a moment, and then he made a frustrated sound that was close to a laugh. “You were a lot easier to argue with when you couldn’t speak, Magelet.” 

“No, you just only heard half the argument. You never knew when you’d lost.” Daine smiled in an odd, sleepy way, feeling lightheaded from weariness and the odd euphoria of feeling safe again. Numair laughed. The tension faded from the air.

“I’m sorry that I can’t promise.” She said, and meant it. 

Numair shrugged, his expression one of self-mockery as if he should have expected her to refuse. Standing up, he lowered a hand to help her to her feet. Daine stood with a groan as her muscles reminded her she’d run a lot more than she was used to. It was the darkest hour before dawn, and when they got into the hallway and she saw the gaping, pitch black doorways that filled the house Daine felt herself begin to tremble again. Any shadow could be... 

“Numair, can I stay with you tonight?” She asked in a small voice. “I understand if you don’t want me to, but...” 

“Of course.” He said, his voice gentle. “You never have to ask.” He laughed shortly and his hand tightened around hers. “After all, if you won’t make an effort to stay out of trouble, I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you, won’t I!”


	27. Guilt 7

Daine felt a hand on her shoulder and opened her eyes, seeing that the light streaming through the gap in the heavy curtains was dim.

 _We must have slept through the whole day,_ she thought, and looked up at the person who had woken her. 

"Lady Alanna? Did you want to speak to Numair?" she whispered. The woman shook her head, cropped hair dancing around her cheeks, and crooked a finger towards the door. Daine carefully slipped out of bed, moving slowly so as not to wake Numair. Both of them had slept badly, and even with the whole day gone she still felt a headache behind her eyes from the nightmares. He was peaceful now, and she thought it better to let him sleep.

Alanna was waiting impatiently in the corridor, but her eyes were unusually uncertain. "Daine," she said carefully, when the girl shut the door behind her, "I wanted to... to apologise to you."

Daine looked at her in surprise, and found herself laughing. She had no illusions that the woman liked her. "Did Hazelle tell you to?"

"She suggested it," Alanna retorted, and then softened. "But she was right. I behaved badly. So there it is: I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Daine felt suddenly awkward, and babbled, "And thank you for hunting them down. Even if you didn't think it went well, I mean. They can't hurt anyone else."

"She told me what you did. How you helped her." Alanna leaned against the wall, and the light made her look wan and tired. Daine wondered if the knight had slept at all. "The girl you helped. I believe she's making you a cake, or some such. All the servants are gossiping so much today the stories are getting mixed up." 

She cut her eyes sideways, her expression speculative. "And you helped Numair, as well. I didn't believe him, you know. I thought he was twisting the truth. You know, protecting you. He's like that. Always has been. I used to tease him about it. He's probably the most powerful mage in the world, but his idea of a battle always seemed to involve some beautiful woman and an unchivalrous cur."

Daine bit back a giggle. "I suppose it was easy for him to scare them off, though, being so strong."

"You'd think so, but if I remember rightly he used to just talk at them until they got confused and wandered off." Alanna grinned and stuck her hands into her belt. "If I could make his vocabulary into a weapon I swear no-one would ever declare war on Tortall again. But Jon probably wouldn't let me use it. He'd think it was unnecessary cruelty, or something."

"Jon?" Daine was pleased they were talking so easily, but found she was getting confused. "I thought your husband was called George?"

Alanna laughed out loud then, covering the loud noise with her hand and looking guiltily at the door. "Jon's the king, Daine. King Jonathan."

"Oh!" The girl flushed and covered her mouth. "I'm sorry! The way you were talking I thought..."

"Don't worry, I don't mind. He may be his royal high-and-mightiness, but he's also a spoilsport." Alanna jerked her head sideways. "Come on, let's go and find that cake. I'm starving!"

"Isn't it _my_ cake?" Daine teased her, falling into step. She stepped on the edge of her dress and cursed, stopping short. "I'm sorry, Alanna, I'll have to get changed first. This thing is in shreds."

Alanna blinked at her with the look of a person who genuinely didn't notice clothes past how warm they were. "I'll come with you." She said, "We can talk. You said you wanted to, right?"

Daine wondered how much Hazelle had paid for the dress as she slipped the sleeves from her shoulders and heard it crumple to the floor. It had been breathtaking when she'd first seen it, a shocking red fabric which seemed to grow darker in candlelight, shading to a soft, rich tone. It had nearly tripped her several times in the garden when she was chasing the assassin, but it wasn't until she took it off that she realised how horribly ruined it really was. Any cloth that wasn't torn was stained by snow and even blood, and the laces in the corset were all cut into ribbons, even where Bennette hadn't severed them. She sighed and lay it gently on the bed, wondering if it looked worse than it was and they could fix it. Somehow, she doubted it.

"I never had anything so beautiful." She said softly, not knowing if Alanna could hear her from where she was building up the fire. "Hazelle shouldn't buy me all these dresses. She must spend a fortune, and I think I'm too good at spoiling them."

"Thayet – Queen Thayet, that is – once did the same thing." Alanna picked up the dress, gave it a cursory glance, and then threw it into the flames. "I wouldn't even use that to clean my armour. She had a dress made for a banquet, and then went riding out with the Riders. By the time she got back it was in shreds. Do you have any sensible clothes?"

Daine blinked at the change of subject. "No? I think Hazelle wanted to make me into a lady."

"Well, you're not a lady." The knight said curtly. "And if you're going to be fighting, you shouldn't be wearing this ridiculous getup." 

She left abruptly and returned after a few minutes, carrying an armful of clothes. "Here," her voice was brusque. "You're taller than me, but smaller. They should fit."

Daine took the clothes cautiously, eyes wide. "Are you sure?"

"Of course not. I'm wracking myself with despair over the thought of losing a few old tunics." Alanna rolled her eyes and went back to the fire. "It's so cold in this bloody country! Why do people live here?"

Daine pulled the clothes on, getting used to Alanna's rough form of kindness. "Thank you." She whispered, and expected the curt nod before Alanna even made the gesture. Typing the belt of the tunic, she said quietly, "It's started, hasn't it? The war?"

"Not quite." Alanna tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully and added yet another log to the fire. "It's like a game of chess. They made their first move, and now we have to decide what to do next. They'll be planning what to do, but they won't do anything until we respond."

"What if we don't do anything?" Daine asked. Alanna made a snorting laugh.

"That's still a response. Just a stupid one."

"No, I mean... what if we look like we're not doing anything? Keep everything the same. The parties, the card games, the friendly smiles. Even send Orsille invitations. It will confuse them. They won't know what we're thinking, only that we're not afraid of them."

Alanna was unusually silent for a moment, and then she grinned wolfishly. "Look the enemy in the eye, you mean?"

"I suppose." The girl sat on the edge of the bed. "Well, they don't know how much we know. I heard them saying so. And they don't know your soldiers are over the pass. They think we're completely cut off. So we can say we had... thieves, or something. A normal break in. So we make the guards more visible, and ask if anyone else has noticed strange things happening around their homes. In the town, or even in the keeps. Because we want our neighbours to be kept safe, right? We can ask as many questions as we like, right in front of them, and we'll know which ones are lying to us."

"It's risky." Alanna's eyes gleamed, and she clapped the girl on the back. "Let's do it!"

Daine grinned back, forcing back the feeling of fear that came from knowing she'd have to talk to them again. A thought occurred to her, and she twisted her hands in her lap. "You'll have to tell Numair," she said, "He'll be angry at me."

Alanna sighed, "Like I said, he's all about the chivalry." She brightened. "Did he tell you that he finally got the leader's name out of Karenna? We know who the officials answer to, now. Perhaps now we can finally get a sensible conversation out of the man over dinner, now he won't have to pander to that silly fool."

"Pander?" Daine blinked at her. "But... aren't they getting married?"

"Married!" Alanna laughed, and didn't seem to notice that the girl wasn't joking. "Perhaps she thought so, but honestly! What an idiot. The promise of a ring around her finger and suddenly she's spilling all her secrets? Numair's clever to be so convincing, but honestly, I look at court women and despair."

Daine felt her head spinning. "But, I thought..."

Alanna's smile faded and she looked uncertain. "You wanted them to get married?" She asked, her expression bemused. Daine went to nod her head, and found she couldn't. She shrugged.

"I... wanted him to be happy. That's all."

"Well, first off, it wouldn't have made him happy. It would have meant I'd _kill_ him for being such an idiot, so he'd've been dead. But no, it was a trap Hazelle thought up. We had to know who was running this show. We knew Karenna's father... that Orsille... was in charge here, but until yesterday we had no proof that he wasn't just planning a coup. It goes all the way to the top, you know... although of course the king will deny it." She frowned. "You really didn't know? They didn't tell you?"

Daine was silent, and Alanna scowled for a moment. "Well, I'd knock their heads together if I were you. Mithros' spear, Daine! I can understand Hazelle fooling you, but Numair? How on earth can you share a bed with the man and still think he's in love with someone else?"

"Why wouldn't he tell me?" She asked in a whisper, and twisted her hands in her lap. "Doesn't he trust me?"

"You'll have to ask him that." Alanna shrugged and pulled the girl to her feet. "No sense fretting over it, though. Sometimes clever people do very stupid things. And you know now, right?"

"Yes," Daine pretended her headache hadn't gotten worse, and made herself smile. "I know now."

888

They may have decided to keep having the parties, but that evening the house was empty. Hazelle gave the servants the evening off, knowing they were a seething hornet's nest of gossip and outrage, and told Alanna, Numair and Daine that she was getting an early night. Alanna (who, it turned out, had prowled the house and garden like a vengeful demon until dawn) echoed their host's words, and fell into her bed so dramatically they could hear the thud from the sitting room.

Daine smiled at the sound. She'd spent most of the afternoon talking with Alanna, letting the short woman eat most of the lopsided cake that the maid had tearfully given her, and learning that most of the woman's harshness was on the surface. By the time Numair joined them she had heard so many stories about Alanna's family, and her life, that she felt like she'd known her for years. She asked Alanna to explain why the king was such a spoilsport, and was still laughing at the last anecdote when the knight excused herself to go to sleep.

"Does it make you miss home?" She asked Numair, seeing that he stopped laughing quite quickly. He shrugged.

"A little. But it's a good kind of homesickness, because I know I'll be seeing them all again soon."

"It must be nice." Daine smiled. "Having a place to go back to, and people that remember you."

He nodded, and then looked up. Alanna had dived for the fireplace the moment they'd come into the room, so they'd ended up making a circle of cushions and lounging around the heat, sleepily chatting and laughing at the knight's stories when they grew more ridiculous. Daine was lying on her stomach with her chin cupped in her hands, watching the flames with peaceful happiness. The words might have sounded barbed coming from someone else, but the girl made them sound simple, genuinely pleased for someone else's happiness.

"What were your family like?" He asked, curious. She smiled sideways at him, and drew in the ashes with one finger.

"Ma was a healer. A midwife. We had a cottage in the mountains with my grandda, in Snowsdale. She was fair pretty- they called her a local beauty. She had hair like gold, and when she smiled you knew you'd done something good! She used to smile a lot."

She drew a stick figure in the ashes and then blew on it, making it disappear. "And I had a pony called Cloud. We grew up together. She made me cry when I was little because she was so grumpy sometimes. But she was my best friend. We used to look after the animals and go around the farms, you know. I suppose they thought it was odd, a little girl riding miles to nurse a sick duck! But I had Cloud with me, and the wolves... the wolves never attacked us. So we kept doing it, and it was a good life. Grandda taught me to shoot. He made me a bow and some puppets – he was good with his hands, a proper craftsman. And there wasn't anyone else. I don't know who my da was, and I don't have any brothers or sisters."

"Do you remember how to shoot a bow?" He asked, "It might be useful."

"Maybe. It'd make my arms ache now, for sure! I'll need to practice." Daine looked intrigued by the thought. "Do you think Hazelle would let me?"

Numair laughed, "Even if she doesn't approve, it doesn't matter. You're your own person. If you want to do something then do it! I'm sure you can be stubborn enough to convince her."

"You can't tease me for that," Daine grinned and brushed a handful of ash at him. "Who do you think taught me to argue? It wasn't Hazelle, that's for sure! She thinks it's unladylike."

"It is?" He looked intrigued. "Well, she's obviously never spoken to another lady in her life."

"Do you want to know what happened to them?" Daine asked, and then waved her ash-stained hand vaguely in the air. "My family, I mean."

"I know they're dead," he hesitated, "And you don't have to..."

"I know. I don't have to tell you anything I don't want to, right?" She smiled. "You keep telling me that. It's alright, I want you to know, if you want to hear it. You asked me weeks ago why I was locked up, and I refused to tell you, remember?"

"Well, you spat at me." He said, and smiled to take the sting of his words away. "I figured it wasn't a good question to ask again. You didn't seem over-keen to answer it."

She blushed and looked at the fire. "I didn't trust you. I thought you were an idiot. I trust you now."

"But you still think I'm an idiot?" He laughed and ducked when she threw another handful of ash at him.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" She sobered then, and looked up from the fire into his eyes. "But if I tell you, I have a condition."

"A condition? I'll keep it secret, if that's..."

"No, it's not that. It's like a trade." She drew a deep breath. "If I tell you this, you have to tell me the truth about Karenna."

He reddened instantly, and started to say something, and she held up a hand. "No, not the spy story. I already know that Hazelle made you do it. Alanna told me. But I want you to tell me. I want you to tell me what happened between you and her, and how much of it was... was real. Because... I don't understand. I don't know why you didn't tell me. It's actually driving me mad- all the wondering! And it hurts, because all I can think of is that you didn't trust me enough to let me know the truth. Is that true?"

"No, of course not." He couldn't meet her eyes, but the word made her happier than she could remember being in a long time. She smiled gently and held out her hand, not caring that it was dusted with ash.

"Do we have a deal, then?"

"Deal." He took her hand and didn't let go for a moment. "When did you find out?"

"This afternoon." She shrugged off the question, and started speaking. "Well, this is what happened. There were bandits..."

Numair listened in silence, not asking any questions even when she explained how she had decided to run with the wolf pack, and how the villagers had started to hunt her down when she couldn't force herself to be human again. She described how Cloud had bullied her into walking on her hind legs, and was almost teaching her to speak again, when the villagers ambushed the wolf pack and they were caught. Her voice stayed detached, almost emotionless, when she spoke about how they had even slaughtered the pups, and how they had beaten her and brought her through the streets of the city in a cage, but emotion broke through when she remembered how they had slaughtered Cloud in front of her eyes.

"They were going to hang me," she said, "But they wanted to... to jeer, first. They were throwing things, and laughing, but all I could think about was how to save Cloud. She screamed when they made the first blow, and I heard it," she touched her temple, not knowing she'd left a fingerprint of ash. "I heard it in my mind, like a flare of that copper light, when she died. And something in me just snapped. I'd been a wolf, but that was the first time that the wolf in my head completely took over.

Before that I could remember how to be human. The wolf in my mind wasn't like a normal wolf. They're clever, and they sing to each other in howls, and they're friendly, and loving. The wolf in my mind just wanted to kill, and maim, and be the kind of savage that the townsfolk expected me to be. I tore through those people like they were made of cobwebs, and I kept going until someone cast a spell on me, and then I couldn't move. I looked around, and saw them. When the wolf went away... when I could think again... I could remember what I saw. Not just the men and women who tried to kill me, but children, old people, even... I remember a baby, and there was blood on its blanket, and it was still. Maybe I killed its mother, maybe I killed it, I never found out. There were so many of them. So many I couldn't count them, but I had killed every one of them. My hands were covered in blood, and I couldn't tell one drop from another."

"Was it the officials who cast the spell?" He asked gently, stopping her meandering words. She blinked and bit her lip.

"I guess so. I never thought about it. Someone hit me not long after, and I woke up in the prison, in a tiny cell. There were claw marks on the door, even in the stone, so I must have tried to get out! But I can't remember anything after they hit me."

He was silent, then said, "I can't help thinking your wolf and my hawk are the same thing. Do you think that's why our gifts tied themselves into knots together?"

She gaped at him. "Aren't you going to... I don't know, be angry with me?"

"It'd be rather hypocritical of me, don't you think?" He looked at her expression, and smiled humourlessly. "I mean, our stories are so similar that we're both open to the same accusations. Killing innocents, decimating towns, going insane..." he sighed and picked up the poker to nudge a spitting log closer to the back of the blaze. "I don't think either of us can take the moral high ground, here."

She rolled onto her back, resting her head on her arm. "So, two murderers are talking next to Hazelle's fire," she said, her voice sardonic, "And she's worried about the assassins coming from outside?"

"I hurt your arm, didn't I?" He said suddenly. She craned her neck back to look at him, unable to read his expression upside down. He put the poker down carefully. "In the mountains. I hurt your arm. I tore claws into your skin. There was blood on my hands."

"No," she said, confused, "That was the hawk."

"Oh, I see." He shrugged. "So, everything I do wrong is the hawk's fault, and everything you do wrong is your own fault?" She was silent, and he reached down to stroke a strand of hair from her forehead, his fingers gentle. "Daine, we've been fighting the hawk and the wolf as long as we've known each other. And I do mean fighting them, not reasoning with them or trying to understand them. They're not a part of us, they're our enemies. And they did terrible, horrible things. Things that will haunt us for the rest of our lives. But it was _them_. You said so yourself: you can't remember being the wolf, past those first few minutes. I've seen you fight against it. If you can convince me that I can overcome the hawk, then why won't you believe the same thing about yourself?"

She looked up at him, eyes shining in the firelight, and then shut her eyes for a moment. Not opening them, a tear slowly making its way down on cheek, she said, "Tell me about Karenna."

His hand paused for a moment, and then he hesitantly wiped the tear away, and his voice was soft. "I ... I just didn't want you to know."

Her eyes opened. "That's it?" She smiled crookedly, and sat up. "Yes, of course it is."

"Of course?" He echoed, and his eyes narrowed. "Daine, what do you mean? I don't understand."

"It's the same answer you have for everything. Everything that's important. Because you're too... you're too noble to tell me the truth." She laughed shortly, "And I don't know why I expected anything else. You must think I'm stupid."

"Of course not!" He reached out to touch her cheek, looking stricken. "No, Daine, that's not it at all. It's just that sometimes the answer really is that simple."

"Liar." She caught his hand and dropped it just as quickly. "I can tell you the answer. It's not even that painful. Because we both know it's true, don't we? You just won't admit it. I can tell you the words you won't say, and then we can get on with our lives without this nonsense making us fight and lie to each other and... give each other stupid one-sentence answers."

"Don't," he whispered, "You don't need to..."

"You're not listening!" Her voice was suddenly hurt, and he flinched and looked straight at her. "You never listen! You don't hear me. And tonight I _am_ me, Numair. I'm me, not the wolf, not Annette, and I'm here, and I might be... stupid, or ignorant, but you're the one who has a problem. You can't hear a word I'm saying."

"I'm listening." He said softly, and this time he didn't look away. "But, Daine, you don't want to tell me anything. I mean it. You're tired and you were hurt and upset... and you don't know what you're saying."

"Yes." She said, and there was an odd clarity in her sudden stillness. "I do. Because I'm Daine tonight, not Annette, and I don't know when that will happen again, or if I'll get another chance before you... you go home... No. I'm here, so I have to tell you..."

"Daine, stop it." He caught her hands, holding them still. She laughed irritably and shook him off, curls flying as she shook her head.

"What are you so scared of? I'm only going to tell you what you want to hear... what you want. Everyone wants to hear what they want. Even people who can't listen."

"What do I want, then?" He asked flatly, a strange resignation mixed with wariness written on his face. She smiled sadly and traced a line down his cheek, as if she were painting a tear.

"You need to know that I understand. That's all. I know you don't want me. I know why you don't want me. And I understand it, really I do. I'm not angry about it, I promise. It's so sweet of you not to tell me, but it's been hanging over us, and you don't have to be scared of it. I... I know why you can't love me."

He stared at her for a long minute, almost paralysed, his lips shaping a question that he couldn't quite voice. After a few moments he looked away and his voice was strange when he asked, carefully: "And why is that?"

She looked at their hands, at her bitten nails, and the neat tailoring on the cuffs of his sleeves. "This is your life, not mine." 

She suddenly felt too sober, as if she had spent all of her energy in her declaration, and had left none for these difficult words. "You're a part of all this. The... dancing and the food and the conversation and the nobles who know your name. You're one of them. It's where you belong. But when I met you I thought you were... more like me. I made a mistake. I didn't know that you had this world to come back to. It's a _beautiful_ world," she said, almost wonderingly, "and you belong in it. You deserve it. You're so lucky to be able to come home to it, and I'm so happy for you. But I could never... I wouldn't..."

"Why not?" Numair looked around then, his eyes shining in the firelight for a brief moment before he looked away again.

"I'm spoiled." She said simply, and then laughed, not noticing his unbidden reaction. "Not that I was much to start with! Hazelle can dress me up in silks and teach me to talk proper... speak well, I suppose. But she can never change what's under all that. What I did, and what was done to me... it can't be taken back, and it will follow me wherever I go. That's why I told you what I did. You saw last night what they did to me, but I needed you to understand that... it wasn't all them. You deserve better than me, and I... I'll be fair glad for you when you go home."

"Is that really what you believe I think? About you?" He cut across. The words became almost incomprehensible as he buried his head in his hands. Daine nodded automatically, and it wasn't until he looked up that she realised he hadn't seen her answer. His eyes were wet with tears, and tiny crescents were embossed in the palms of his hands where he'd dug his nails into the skin.

"Are you crying?" She asked, and then felt her own eyes well up. "Oh please don't cry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never...!"

"No." He cut her off, wiping away the tears in frustrated haste. "I mean, yes, of course I... oh, for Shakith's sake." He ran a hand through his hair until it was a tangled crows-nest. "So that's why you think I turned you down? In the...the mountains? Because I think you're _spoiled_?"

"Of course! Wasn't it?" Daine said, watching him with perplexed eyes. He laughed shortly, a harsh sound that was more like the hawk's voice than his own, and he picked up the poker to build up the dying fire. His fingers wrapped around the iron bar so tightly that they shone white in the orange light.

"I thought it would wear off," he said quietly, almost to himself. The fire crackled and a log hissed, and he nudged the smouldering charcoal closer to the heart of the fire with a careless gesture. "When you were safe, and had other people around you who cared for you, I thought it would fade. I thought I needed to keep you close because I wanted to defend you. We were protected from the moment we arrived in this house, but I only felt like we were safe when you came to me that night. I held you in my arms, and I could breathe again."

"It was a habit, I told myself. I expected every morning to wake up with nothing in my head except the ends of nightmares. But it never happened. Every morning I woke up with you in my heart, before I even remembered that I was holding you in my arms."

He glanced at her then, his eyes wide and artless. She had her head tilted to one side, grey eyes huge as she looked back. As soon as he met her eyes, Numair flushed and looked away. His words became harsh in their self-mockery.

"And still, I thought it would wear off. I watched you, hoping you would see someone else, and smile at them the way you always smile at me. I waited for someone who could give you a home and a...a family. The things they stole from you. You deserve to have them. I knew I could never give them to you, so I tried to make you believe that I liked someone else.

I wanted you to hate me, to look away from me and see another person to love. I let you think badly of me, because I wanted you to think well of someone else. When you spied on me I realised what I'd done. What damage I'd made. I'd been so wrapped up trying to push you away that I hadn't realised how much I was hurting you. And until you nearly lost yourself in your gift, I didn't realise how much losing you would hurt me, too."

He traced the carving around the edge of the fireplace with a long finger, his voice so quiet the hiss of the flames nearly drowned it out. "Slowly, too slowly, I realised that I was wishing away the first thing to make me smile every morning, and the only thing that chased your nightmares away each night. Why would I push that away? But by then it was too late. The... the damage has been done. I couldn't tell you, because... how could I tell you that I knew how much I was hurting you? That I was doing it on purpose?

We slept apart for eleven days, Daine, and every morning I woke up knowing that you were fighting your nightmares alone. I had to stop myself from running to your room. Once I caught myself standing with my hand reached out to the lock on my door, shaking with the effort of forcing my feet not to take another step forward.

I didn't want you to love me, sweetling. I can't offer you what you deserve. I have nothing. No home, no family, no trade. I'm a mage who can't use his magic, for the Hag's sake! I tried everything I could think of to make you stop, but I can't any more. I can't stand seeing you hurt. And I can't be silent. Not when you... you think... this... this lie that you've told yourself. How long have you thought that, Daine? What must you think of me?" He looked around then, not moving, almost afraid to make a single move towards or away from the girl who sat, frozen, a few feet away.

"Daine, I'm in love with you." He said simply. "I don't think you're spoiled. I never did. Not when you were a nameless, caring shadow who never said a word, and not when we were starving together in the mountains, and not when they turned you into Annette, and definitely not now when you're just Daine, and my friend, and... and yelling at me in front of a fire. You're the most beautiful person I've ever met, inside and out. Whatever you think they destroyed, it doesn't show. Maybe you think there are reasons why I shouldn't love you, but..." and he smiled, "I'm prepared to argue with you about them for the rest of our lives, if you'll let me."

"Yes," She whispered, and took hold of his hand when he raised it to her cheek. Her eyes shone with tears when she kissed his palm, and held it against her cheek. "Yes, yes, with all my heart."

He leaned forward and kissed her, a hesitant, almost shy kiss which was completely unlike the way they'd kissed before. Daine felt a strange lightness run through her body, warm where his hand held her cheek. She returned his kiss with the same gentleness, sharing the slow wonder of the fact that they really did love each other and finally, finally they could tell each other. She raised a hand and ran it through his hair, adoring the softness of it under her fingers and drawing him closer.

When they finally broke apart Daine giggled. "You have ash in your hair."

"Does it make me look sophisticated?" He drew her into his lap and kissed her forehead playfully. "You do know you're covered in ash, Magelet?"

"I think it suits me," She smiled. "Do you know, a handsome man told me how beautiful he thought I was two minutes ago? He might not have, if I didn't look so sophisticated."

"Oh, he would," Numair kissed her again, his arms tight around her waist. 

The gesture started off playful, but Daine caught the edge of his face with her hand and pulled him closer, and he couldn't resist deepening their kiss, holding her so closely she could barely breathe, only feel the delicious heat that raced from her stomach and spread through her whole body. She moaned and moulded her body to his, feeling him catch his breath in response, and when he drew back she had to will her heart to stop racing.

"Daine," Numair said breathlessly, a hint of laughter in his eyes as he echoed the words she'd said the night before, "Will you stay with me tonight?"

"Of course," she breathed, and couldn't resist reaching up to kiss him again. "You never have to ask."


	28. Guilt 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a regular reader (Hi guys!) you might have worked out that we've reached the part of this story that I need to rewrite, which is why updates have slowed down so much. Thank you for being so patient while I do it! Hopefully they won't be too slow, but do please poke me for updates if you feel like I'm dragging my heels. :-)

By the time they climbed the stairs and the door clicked shut an odd shyness had crept over both of them. It was as if they were both seeing each other for the first time. The heat that had roared between them beside the fire had dimmed enough to let them catch their breath, and Daine found that she was too nervous even to reach up and kiss the man she adored. 

She laughed softly and caught his hand, recognising his own shyness in his rueful answering smile. 

“I don’t know where to start,” she whispered, and blushed. He squeezed her hand and gently led her to sit beside him on the bed. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” he replied, stroking her palm. “If it makes you remember… if…” he looked away for a moment and then took a deep breath and met her eyes. “Daine, I saw what Orsille did to you. I know about the others and I… I would rather we never made love at all than have you remember being hurt.” 

She inhaled sharply, stunned by what he was saying. It explained his own hesitation, and his caring reason made her feel very odd. 

“That… that isn’t why I…” she started, and then gulped and shook her head. Tucking her arm through his, she nestled her head against his shoulder and tried to think of a way to explain the way he made her feel. 

“I know you love me,” she managed finally, saying the easiest thing first, “So I… I don’t think it would hurt with you.”

“No,” he smiled slowly and his fingers crept from her palm slowly up her arm, tracing the veins from her wrist to her elbow with such maddening delicacy that Daine felt goosebumps tingle on her skin. “No, sweetheart. It won’t hurt. It’s not supposed to hurt. Quite the opposite, really…” he bent and kissed the inside of her elbow, pushing back the thick cotton of her winter shirt to trace a trail of freckles with his lips. Daine shivered and he stopped, looking up at her mischievously. “Am I being convincing? Because you do have a whole other arm…” 

She giggled and kissed his forehead, raising him up to meet her eyes properly. Her next reason for stopping him was harder to say so the words came out in a toneless rush. “I have a lot of scars, Numair. They’ll make you angry and I don’t want you to feel like that. Not tonight.” 

He paused. “Are you scared I’ll get angry enough to turn into the hawk?” He asked bluntly. 

She gasped and shook her head, so honestly appalled that it was obvious that the thought had never even occurred to her. The man kissed away the line that appeared on her forehead and cupped her face between his hands, looking almost wondering. 

“No, you’re really not afraid of me, are you?” 

Daine shook her head even more emphatically. “Never.”

“So you just don’t want me to see these scars?”

“They’re ugly, and the reason they happened is horrible. They make me ugly. You’ll hate seeing them.” She muttered. She flushed when he shook his head. 

“I told you, I’ll never think of you as spoiled by what they did to you.” Daine shut her eyes at his words, and Numair gently kissed each eyelid. “How can I make you believe that, little one?” 

She didn’t answer, and after a moment the man smiled and lay back on the bed, linking his hands under his head casually. “Well, I know better than to argue with Daine when she has her mind set on something. She’s so good at the silent treatment I’ll never hear the start of it, never mind the end!” 

The girl smothered a giggle in her hand and lay down beside him, feeling far more at ease with this familiar teasing than she had before. She felt instinctively that Numair did, too, because the hesitant note fell away from his voice and it relaxed into the easy lilt that she knew so well. 

“Once upon a time…” he started, and this time Daine did laugh out loud. 

“Are you telling me bedtime stories now?” She raised an eyebrow at him when he tried to look affronted at being interrupted. “I might fall asleep. Then what would you do?” 

“I’d have a very adorable - if frustratingly insecure - pillow.” He winked at her and then looked back at the ceiling, sighing for effect. “ _Once_ upon a _time_ , Miss Veralidaine Sarrasri… there was a man.” 

“There always is.” She muttered, and was rewarded with a pained expression. 

“Not like this man, I assure you. Our hero was tall, and handsome, and devastatingly clever, now I think of it… oh, and he could turn into a bird but he wasn’t very good at turning back. Mainly because he didn’t actually know he was a bird until after he changed back, so it stands to reason that when he was a bird, he didn’t know he could be human.” 

“I think I know some of this story,” Daine said, but she curled a little closer to Numair and squeezed his hand sympathetically. “But I didn’t know that you… he… completely forgot. I thought there must be something that crossed over.”

“Mm.” He said, and then looked at her more seriously. “There wasn’t. Not a single thing, for years and years. And then...” 

He pushed his sleeve up to the shoulder and raised his arm so she could see it, revealing a large knotted scar on the inside of his upper arm that she’d never noticed before. 

“You know our hero’s other scars, little healer,” He said in his storytelling voice, “But this… this scar belongs to the Hawk.”

“Belonged.” She corrected, and he sighed and shook his head. 

“No, sweetling, this is the one that I’m happy to let the Hawk keep forever. 

It rampaged through a farming town. The farmers chased it out with torches and pitchforks. The torches were witched with magefire- that’s… have you never heard of it, Daine? It’s illegal but it gets used rather a lot anyway. It’s a kind of sticky fire that keeps burning until another mage puts it out. The Hawk got caught by some of it. It let it burn for nearly an hour before it realised that I would know how to stop it. 

It’s the only time the Hawk has ever treated me as anything other than a… a shell. It was also the first time I actually knew what the Hawk had done. It gave me its memories, you see, so I would know what kind of magefire it was. That was the last raid the Hawk made. After that I decided to end it. To take your words for It, dearest: this is an ugly scar.” 

He watched the subtle changes in her expression as she traced the shape of it with curious fingertips, and when she looked at him with wide, sympathetic eyes he carried on. 

“I used to hate it. But now I look at it and I think: this is the scar that made me fight the hawk, so this is the scar that brought me to you. It has a better meaning. Just like how the scar on my stomach is where I tried to kill myself, but it’s also how we became friends. I don’t need to remember the ugly meanings every time I get undressed. The nicer memories are worth so much more. It doesn’t make the scars any less visible or make them ache less on cold mornings, but it does mean that I’m not letting them dictate how I see myself underneath them all.” 

Daine blinked at him, and then she lowered her head and kissed the scar on his arm. He shivered and she smiled against his skin, drawing the cotton shirt down and then off his arm so she could nuzzle against the bare skin of his shoulder. He cleared his throat and his words were a little hoarse. 

“Don’t expect me to hate anything about you, little one, even scars. It’s not going to happen. I simply don’t have it in me to love you any less than completely, utterly and absolutely.” 

“You’re quite sentimental really, aren’t you?” Daine whispered. She looked up and her mouth curved upwards in a teasing smile. He laughed and tweaked her nose. 

“Honestly, you have no idea. Expect poetry and flowers, magelet.” 

“But I don’t want flowers…” she said. Coming to a sudden decision she leaned over to kiss him. His hand crept up to the nape of her neck, and she felt her skin tingle deliciously wherever he was touching it. It was hard even to drag herself away for long enough to finish her sentence but she knew she had to. He wouldn’t do anything without her consent, and she adored him for it.

She drew back a little, feeling his heart racing under her searching fingertips and her own blood humming in her veins as he sat up with her. 

“I don’t want flowers,” she said breathlessly, and wrapped one arm around his shoulders to draw him closer. The way the firelight lit his face made his eyes look so dark she thought she might drown in them, and it was hard to stop her own heart from pounding. “I only ever wanted you.” 

“I’m glad. I don’t know where I’d actually find flowers in the middle of winter.” 

Daine silenced Numair’s oddly nervous joke by kissing his throat, hearing him catch his breath in surprise.

“Ssh.” She murmured, feeling an odd headiness at being in control. “It’s alright. Stop thinking so much.”

“If you insist,” he whispered with a definite undercurrent of heat in his laughing voice.

Numair raised her chin and ran his thumb gently from her ear down her neck, smiling oddly when a deep flush spread over the girl’s skin and she shivered. “Now, Daine, where were we? Ah yes…” he kissed her chin, brushing his lips teasingly up over her own until she sighed. “… I was being _convincing_.”

“Very,,,” she trailed off, unable to find any more words. They weren’t needed. 

For a long time afterwards they said nothing at all. 

Daine felt the gentle caress of Numair’s fingers and the warmth of his lips with a wondering fascination. She had never really believed that the kinds of feelings the maids in the prison had gossiped about were actually possible. At least, she’d figured that even if they did exist, they weren’t possible for herself. They were like butterflies in winter, a strange delicate dream that died too quickly in the frozen wastes of her life. 

But now… she felt her eyes sliding shut in shivers of pleasure, but even in the darkness the world was still full of colours. It was full of the rich heady hues of desire, full of a stirring darkness that burned wherever he kissed her and made her gasp for air like she was drowning. She reached out and crushed her lips to her lovers’. Her arms wrapped around him so tightly that she could feel his chest moving with every ragged breath he took, and when she leaned back he made an odd sound and lifted her slightly, laying her down on the bed and pressing closer. 

Daine’s eyelashes fluttered and then her eyes flew open as Numair unlaced her shirt. Despite herself she instinctively caught at his hands and then clutched at the fabric, a surge of panic eclipsing the wanton need that thundered in her blood. He immediately stopped. His breathing was ragged but he held himself still, looking down patiently for her to make the next move.

“I… I’m sorry,” she gasped, humiliated, and lowered her eyes. She tried to shove away the fear she had felt but the cold shock of it made her shudder. “I… it’s not you, it…” 

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand.” Numair caught his breath and ran loving fingers along her cheek. She shook her head irritably, her already tangled curls catching on the sheet. 

“It’s not alright! I shouldn’t feel like this, not with you! It’s just plain… plain stupid. You’re nothing like them! I trust you, so why am I still afraid? I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life but if that door was open I half think I’d be running for the hills.” 

He chuckled, which surprised her out of her irritation, and when she looked up he kissed the end of her nose. “Please don’t do that, magelet. I’d follow you, you know that, so it wouldn’t work. And it’s snowing, for another thing. Not to mention all the soldiers still looking for us. We’d end up back under that old fur hiding from patrols in the freezing cold.” 

“That might be better! I wasn’t scared on the mountain.” She persisted with an odd flicker of perverse mischievousness. She thought about that for a moment and then said, more seriously, “I think perhaps… I… I knew I could stop any time I wanted so it didn’t feel like… like being with the officials.” 

“You said you trusted me.” Numair murmured, still stroking her hair. “If you want to stop now then we will. Is that what you want, little one?”

“I don’t want to stop.” Her reply was stubborn but her hands shook when she touched his cheek, “And I do trust you. I love you. I’m just afraid.”

“It’s alright to be afraid.” He traced the line of her hair down across her shoulder blade and then to the sheet she lay on. When she didn’t answer but looked away again he bit his lip. Against her honest, almost heartbreakingly innocent confession he felt almost as shy and clueless as a green youth. He hesitated, and then pressed his long fingers to one of her temples. 

“Look at me, love,” the words were soft but compelling, and despite her own inner turmoil the girl’s grey eyes fixed on his. She parted her lips to ask something and he shook his head, stopping her words with a light kiss. 

_Open your mind to me._ He said through their magic, and her eyes widened. 

_Are you sure? Last time I did that Alanna said…_

_I’m sure._ He smiled reassuringly. _Trust me._

She bit her lip and he had to resist the sudden desire to kiss the worried line away from between her eyes. When she nodded he pressed his forehead against her own, sharing the mingled fear and desire that writhed in her mind for a moment until he caught the translucent smoke of her shade. He drew it back into his own centre and let her see his own mind. 

Numair let her see everything without any shame, not wanting to hide a single thing from her. Daine’s consciousness was a bright jewel glittering among the darker channels of his thoughts, and in his mortal arms the woman he held drew a deep breath at what she saw. This wasn’t like the wild flood of memories Daine had unconsciously poured into his mind the night before. The man’s more practiced hands held her shade safely and shaped the world around her into a calm ocean of glittering thoughts. 

He let thoughts drift to the surface so she could see them more clearly – not just his love for her, or his desire to make her happy, but his own nervousness and insecurities. He found nightmares and things he desperately wanted to stay pure and vibrant in their lives. He shared the memories that he cherished of their time together and his hopes for the future. He summoned emotions and dreams which went so far beyond words that he didn’t even know how to name them, and let her see all of them without a shred of secrecy.

It was an act of absolute trust. He had made himself so vulnerable that his mind felt raw, and he let her feel that vulnerability, too. She caught his real hand and tightened her fingers around his. 

_Don’t…_ she pleaded, and Numair felt love and concern surge forward in her mind as she tried to protect him from his own choice. He shook his head and smiled, cupping the side of her face. 

_I want to, love._

Then he leaned forward and kissed her slightly parted lips, and when dark, wanton desire writhed in his mind at her whimpered response he pushed it forward so that she could share this emotion too. She shivered under him, but when he went to draw away she shook her head and pulled him back. Wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders, she arched up under him and crushed her body to his. It sparked a blistering flare of shared passion that burned between their minds as well as their bodies.   
Numair had to stop her, had to be absolutely sure of her before what she was doing made him lose control entirely. He took hold of both her hands with one of his and held her still, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe evenly. He didn’t even trust himself to form words any more, but when he met her darkened gaze he knew he had to ask the question. He cupped her cheek and looked straight into her eyes.

_I showed you me. Everything about me… and everything you mean to me. Are you still afraid?_

_No. Never._

Daine caught her breath at the surge of feeling her answer raised in his mind. It washed over both of them like languid heat, and she writhed against him in catlike pleasure. Rather than sating the fire between them her action intensified it, making both of them clutch at each other as heat grew between them. Dragging her hands free from his, Daine ran them under his shirt and pushed the fabric up, feeling him pull her own tunic off without feeling a hint of the fear that had stopped her before. 

What Daine had always experienced as pain and humiliation was an act of such loving openness with Numair that she couldn’t bear to let him draw away afterwards. Their gentle movements had grown more urgent and they had to ward the room against the husky cries which they both tried to smother in each others’ kisses. Even after she stiffened and arched in the man’s embrace as a wave of crashing heat made her pulse rush in her ears she still clung to him. When his cries of pleasure followed hers she pressed her lips fiercely to the heartbeat that raced in his throat and held him close. 

“Daine…” he gasped, and kissed her deeply, “Oh, sweetheart…” 

“Li.. listen...” She pressed her ear to his chest and her voice took on a strange note. “We have the same heartbeat. The same gift, the same thoughts and now the… the same heartbeat.”

“Of course,” the man’s voice was soft, vulnerable in its naked emotion. “We belong to each other.”

“I like this kind of belonging,” She kissed his shoulder tenderly, loving the musky warm scent of his skin and the way even her slightest touch made his heart race. She grinned a little mischievously and nuzzled against the wiry hair on his chest, then caught her breath in a half-laugh when he inhaled sharply and stirred within her. “Does that mean you do, too, my love?”

He pulled her towards him, kissing her so fiercely she could barely breathe. “Don’t tease me for wanting you,” he whispered. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“I didn’t _happen_. I almost think I was waiting for you.” She ran her hands down his back, tracing the line of his spine with whispering fingertips until he shivered and muffled a groan against her shoulder. Kissing his temple with slow tenderness, her voice took on a wondering sincerity. “You belong to me, and I belong to you, and gladly. I promise that, for as long as I live. I don’t need a chain around my wrist to make me keep my word.” 

“How about a ring?” He breathed it into her ear, catching the lobe gently between his teeth. She giggled in half-shock and shoved at him. 

“Unless you want to marry your cousin, Leto, you might want to wait before saying daft things like that.” 

“That wasn’t a ‘no’…” He caught her lips and lingered there, teasing her for long, delicious minutes. Then he drew away, looking a little rueful as he sat up and pushed his tangled hair back out of his eyes. “You are right though – as much as I hate to admit it. As long as everyone’s playing this stupid game we’ll have to keep pretending.” 

“Only during the day.” She reminded him, and caught his hand to pull him back into her arms. He laughed and caught her up around the waist, lifting her easily. 

“And only _then_ when people are watching.” He added, setting her down in his lap and rubbing his nose against hers playfully. "When you’re all dressed up in one of Hazelle’s beautiful gowns, flirting with all those rich noble idiots and looking like a princess I won’t even let myself stare at you.” 

“And afterwards?” She kissed the end of his nose in reply. He didn’t answer, but ran his hand down her body, following the path of his fingertips with his eyes. She squeaked and clung to him, and he laughed. 

“Afterwards?” He echoed her word mockingly and moved his hand even lower. When she cried out and arched against him he wrapped his free arm around her waist and kissed the side of her neck. His voice grew full of heated promise. “Ah no my magelet, that would be _telling_.”


	29. Guilt 9

“Well, if Alanna burned it, she burned it,” Hazelle sighed, “We can get you another dress. And, since you insist on wearing 

them, some tunics that weren’t made for someone with the muscles of a plough horse.” 

She glanced at the tunic Daine was wearing with obvious disapproval, and had tutted between her teeth when Daine explained 

what had happened to her dress. Now that the woman’s cultured irritation seemed to have ebbed away the girl smiled and 

thanked her. As grateful as she was to Alanna, there was something nice about the thought of having leggings that she didn’t 

have to cinch closed with a belt. 

“Then I can go into the market?” She asked, keeping her voice light. “It’s the midwinter fair today, you know. It will be so 

busy that no-one will look twice at me, and there’s some things I need to do.” 

“Things?” Hazelle’s eyebrow rose elegantly, and Daine cursed inwardly. It truly was impossible to sneak anything past the 

old lady. 

The expression on Hazelle’s face when her guests had walked into the kitchen for breakfast that morning, hands entwined, had 

been as blatant as a cat staring at a bowl of cream. She didn’t say anything, though. At the end of the meal she asked Daine 

to show her the damage to her clothes from the night before. The girl led her to her room and ruefully showed her the ashes. 

 

When the girl didn’t reply, she repeated, “What things, Annette? I’m sure that we have anything you’d ever need here...” 

“You’re very generous,” Daine cut across softly, and smiled, “And I’m fair grateful, but this is... something I want to do 

without feeling like I’m taking it out of your pocket.”

“I don’t mind,” Hazelle said softly, almost hurt by the idea that she might be. “I’m happy to give you these things, little 

girl. I can’t hold on to them forever.” 

“I know.” Daine impulsively went to kiss the lady’s cheek, smelling the soft chalky perfume that never seemed to fade from 

the woman’s skin. “You’ve been so good to us. But this is something I want to give away.” 

She opened the chest that sat beside the bed and took out a scrap of cloth, which she unwrapped slowly. Hazelle took the 

bundle with curious fingers, her mind racing. She hadn’t been aware that this thing existed, which meant that Daine had 

hidden it on the very first night she spent here. The girl must have thought to conceal it even when she was so starved and 

tired that she could barely see. It must be something very dangerous! Hazelle unwrapped the rest of the cloth greedily and 

was taken aback by how small the thing turned out to be. 

It was a thin, broken silver chain, with scores of tiny disks welded to it. Each disk held a different rune. Although several 

of them were blackened as if they’d been burned, it was clearly a well-made piece of jewellery.

“What is it?” The old woman asked. 

Daine took it back with a look of distaste, and folded it in the fabric without a second glance. 

“It’s a slave chain.” She said. “My chain. I want to sell it. If they melt it down into a lump of metal maybe it’ll be worth 

something to someone.” 

“Quite a lot, I’d think.” Hazelle said. “It looks like pure silver! I could send someone to the blacksmith with it for you.”

“N-No.” Her voice was quiet, but stubborn. “No thank you. I have plans for it. I have to do it myself.” 

“Then why didn’t you sell it weeks ago?” The old woman asked. “Why keep it a secret from me?”

Daine shrugged rather than answer, and for once the lady let the mystery slide. Daine was glad. One answer was simple enough 

in its own way – the midwinter fair was far larger than any normal market, and easier to sell something so valuable at 

without raising comments. 

In truth the girl had almost forgotten that she still had the slave chain. She had hidden the dratted thing in the bottom of 

her clothes chest and had only remembered she had it because she had moved all of her other possessions into Numair’s room 

that morning. The rag-wrapped bundle had come undone, and the charms glared up at her from the base of the oak chest like 

baleful silver eyes. 

It had taken every fragment of happiness from the night before to stop Daine from slamming the lid back down and finding 

somewhere to hide until she could stop shaking. As it was, she forced herself to reach in to the chest and pull the rag back 

over the silver chain, disguising it until she could work out what to do with it.

He might not have even realised it, but more had changed in Daine’s world since Numair had confessed his love for her than 

just the way she felt about him. As much as he cared about her, it was impossible for the man to truly understand the way she 

had thought and felt about her strange, meaningless life. Before she escaped Daine had been a faceless slave, and after that 

she was still a chrysalis: a nameless creature that Hazelle had created. 

Escaping from the prison had given her freedom but it was an odd and groundless freedom. She might have learned new things 

and met new people but at heart she had still felt utterly shapeless. She had no sense of home, even in the friendly company 

of Hazelle and her household, and apart from confronting the officials there had been no real hopes or ambitions for her to 

look forward to. How could she make plans when she didn’t really exist? 

Perhaps it hadn’t been Numair who had changed her. Perhaps she had done it herself. The chrysalid had sat in front of a fire 

and said – insisted – that she was not Annette, and not a slave, but Daine. The same Daine who had killed innocent people in 

Snowsdale, but Daine nonetheless. She summoned a living, breathing person who was allowed to have dreams, and who might see 

them come true. A mortal creature who only needed to be loved to be real. And Numair had breathed life into her as surely as 

the sun had risen that morning. 

And so, even if Numair didn’t see it, Daine felt to the depths of her heart that she had changed. Suddenly she had real plans 

for the future - things which might actually come true, and which she could work towards rather than have to fight against. 

It was a heady feeling. 

Both Numair and Daine longed to live safely and quietly together in a place where their past wouldn’t haunt them. The girl 

set her stubborn mind to work and started planning how that might actually be achieved. Numair had told her in one of his 

stories that he used to own a tower in Tortall, and so if the king allowed it there was a chance that they could live there. 

But even if they had a building, neither of them had a trade. They would need money. 

The girl decided that she was going to re-learn how to be a hunter. She would need a bow and a lot of practice, but she used 

to be good enough to sell leftover game at the market in Snowsdale. Selling the last memento of her slave life to buy a bow 

to support her freedom seemed somehow right.

But what should she say to Hazelle?

As close as she had grown to the caring old woman, Daine didn’t quite know how she should explain herself to her. Part of the 

story involved her moving away from Hazelle’s home for good, which she knew the woman was hoping Daine wouldn’t do. The other 

part of the story was about her wanting to make a life with Numair, and when it came to talking about Numair…   
…well, even the thought made her blush. Words definitely wouldn’t happen. 

So in the end Daine just shrugged and smiled reassuringly. She was sure Hazelle already knew some of it. The fact that the 

woman wasn’t actually asking questions told her that. 

The woman sighed, and grudgingly gave permission for the girl to leave the grounds. She laid down a few conditions, though, 

and half an hour later she grew nearly apoplectic when both of her guests politely told her they didn’t want guards. Seeing 

her distress, they pointed out that having an entourage was far more noticeable than just being alone. 

“We can look out for each other,” Numair had said in a protective voice that dared anyone to argue. Alanna looked up from the 

map she was scowling at in the corner of the sitting room, startled by the man’s tone of voice. Looking speculatively from 

Numair to Daine she hid a grin. Then she huffed and rolled her eyes. 

“Lady Hazelle, are you going to give them a curfew, too?” She drawled, “Let them go, for Mithros’ sake, or they’ll just sit 

around making doe-eyes at each other all day. How you’re not sick of the sight of them by now I can’t imagine!” 

“You’re not being funny.” Numair remarked drily. Alanna pulled an exasperated face at him. 

“Why would anyone need to cast a warding spell in a place as safe as this, Numair? There was an awful lot of silence coming 

from your room this morning…” She smiled triumphantly when Daine blushed bright red. “There. If that’s not a guilty 

expression I don’t know what is.” 

“I don’t feel guilty.” Daine told her quietly, and something in the girl’s voice made the knight pause in her teasing. Daine 

shrugged, her face still burning but her words quite steady. “We’re not ashamed. Not a bit. We love each other.”

“Love’s all very well, Annette, but I can’t say I approve of this kind of immoral behaviour in my own home.” Hazelle’s voice 

was a little sharp. “Under the eyes of the Goddess…”

“The Goddess?” Daine laughed explosively and took Numair’s hand, feeling the tense irritation that lurked dangerously under 

his skin. She gently wove her fingers through his, stopping him from curling his hand into a fist. “Lady Hazelle, who do you 

think you’ve been sheltering under your roof these past months? We’re both about as far from moral as it’s possible to be. If 

the Goddess ever comes a-calling she’ll have better things to punish us for than making love.”

“That’s the past you’re both hiding from though, isn’t it?” The old woman leaned back in her chair and her words were 

challenging. “You can’t use it to excuse yourselves now. As Annette and Leto – and under my protection - you’re supposed to 

be respectable.” 

“And _that_ nonsense is exactly why we decided to keep it secret.” Numair matched her terse words with his own outburst 

of anger, and he glanced at Daine when she squeezed his hand soothingly. He sighed and tugged at his nose, not meeting 

Hazelle’s eyes but looking instead at the smaller hand whose fingers were meshed so perfectly with his own.

“We don’t mean to offend you.” He finished eventually. “If… if we could be blessed by a priest and make a respectable troth 

than we would, but you have to agree that it’s just not possible while we’re in hiding.” 

“And you can’t wait?” The woman matched his impatient tone. To her surprise when the man looked up his black eyes were 

amused, and his voice was bright with unvoiced laughter. 

“Well, in _that_ respect we’re both very happy to be _utterly_ immoral.” 

Alanna snorted a laugh at that from her corner and then dove back into her work when Hazelle shot a glare her way. 

“If neither of you are capable of the tiniest amount of self-control I suppose keeping it a secret is all you can do, then. 

And that at least is a sensible notion.” Hazelle waved a translucent hand delicately in the air, dismissing her own 

irritation to speak more bluntly. “If your enemies found out you were lovers then they’d know you’re each others’ 

weaknesses.” 

Both Daine and Numair looked up at her, surprised, and then glanced at each other. 

“We hadn’t thought about it like that.” Numair said slowly. “We just thought it didn’t really fit with the characters we’re 

pretending to be.” 

“Also true.” Alanna said solemnly, and then her eyes twinkled. “Which characters are going to the fair today, Numaileto?”

“You’re not helping, Alanna.” Hazelle snapped. She drew a deep breath, looked at the two fugitives who met her gaze with 

artless eyes, and then shook her head. “Oh, go to the market. Get out of my house and leave an old woman in peace with her 

illusions of modesty for a few hours.” 

Before any of them could try to soothe her hurt feelings, the lady dragged herself to her feet and stalked out of the room. 

Numair and Daine exchanged a half-guilty look and then left by the other door. They took warm winter cloaks from the hall and 

pulled them on over plain padded clothes like the mountain folk wore in winter. By the time they were swathed in the thick 

outfits they already looked utterly unlike the silk-clad nobles they had pretended to be for so long, but before they left 

the house Numair stopped and beckoned Daine into an anteroom. 

“It’s been so long since we were out of this house I almost feel like we’re escaping again!” He whispered, grinning, and then 

rested a hand against the side of her face. “But that said, we still need to be careful. So I’m going to cast a glamour on us 

to disguise us for a few hours.” 

“You’re going to use your gift?” She asked uncertainly. He nodded. 

“It’s a good chance for an experiment. I’m sure Alanna would offer to do it, but she’s going to be absolutely insufferable 

for a few days. And more seriously, there’s a good reason that I try. I won’t use my magic unless it’s absolutely necessary 

and neither should you… but we still need to practice as much as we can. So I need you to help me.” 

“Help?” She echoed uncertainly. He smiled and kissed her forehead. 

“It shouldn’t be too difficult, don’t worry!” His expression grew serious. “I’ll cast the magic. I need you to... to defend 

the barrier that you put in my mind. Do you remember what we practiced, about controlling your magic, and not letting it get 

out of control? If you see the barrier weaken, I want you to fix that part of it – and only that part. Use as little magic as 

possible, and do everything deliberately.” 

“What if I can’t stop it?” She whispered. He squeezed her hands. 

“You can. Use some of that wonderful stubbornness on it, and tell it you’re in charge!” He laughed. “It’s your gift, after 

all, magelet. It’s about time it started listening to you.” 

 

“Alright. If you’re happy to risk it.” She said, still sounding doubtful. “I’ll try.”

He caught her hand and pulled her next to him in one of the window seats. 

_Good!_ He said silently, his mind voice excited as he brushed a stray curl behind her ear. _If we can get this to_

_work, then we might be able to work out a system to use our magic properly._

_Only if the other person is there._ She reminded him, and he smiled. 

_That’s no hardship, sweetling._

_Well, let’s hope people only attack us when we’re not having an argument. I’m not letting you win a fight just so you can_

_save my life again, you know._ She smirked when he pulled a face at her. 

_Follow me, then, my darling fountain of optimism._ Numair said dryly, and started to meditate. 

Daine smiled at the sarcastic courtly phrase and shut her eyes. 

She followed his shade through their connection with an ease that would have stunned her a few months ago. The magic lessons 

had given her more control over her magic than she ever believed was possible. When she saw Numair’s core she realised it was 

the same for him – without the hawk running through his mind, the black coils of his gift were neater than they had been 

before. Before they had been writhing wildly, shooting out violent barbed thorns and trying to bleed into his core, they were 

now peaceful and came to him readily when his shade stood among them and called to them. 

Daine watched his core uneasily, seeing the odd silhouette of black wings as it thudded against the cylinder of bronze fire. 

Now that she was here she could feel every impact, as if the bronze gift was an extension of her arms and legs. When the hawk 

tore black claws against a dimmer patch in the light, she felt the weakness and instantly went to press her palm to the 

damage. 

She concentrated, working out what she needed to do, and then took a calm breath and ordered her magic to heal that part and 

nothing else. Her hand felt warm for a moment and when she looked at it the fingers were glowing oddly, but the flow of magic 

stopped after a few heartbeats. The dim patch blazed with new light. 

Daine smiled triumphantly and stepped back, looking and feeling for more weak patches. The second one was easier to fix, and 

the third barely took any effort at all. She was just looking for a fourth when a hand fell on her shoulder, and she heard 

Numair’s voice in her ear. 

_I’ve finished,_ he said, and kissed her cheek. As a shade it tingled strangely, and they both laughed. Numair took her 

hand and pulled her back from the core. _Shall we go?_

Daine opened her eyes and couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “We did it!” She breathed, and grinned at Numair when his eyes 

opened too. “Numair, we did it!” 

She stumbled over her words then when she looked at Numair properly and took in the strange light shade of his hair and the 

broader cheeks. He still looked like himself, but different enough that even she wondered for a moment if it was really him. 

His eyes were the same, though: black and amused. 

“How do I look?” He asked. She tilted her head to one side. 

“Odd. Different.” The girl ran a finger along his jaw, amused that even though he looked clean-shaven she could feel the 

rough stubble which she had distracted him from shaving off that morning. She looked up at him with laughing eyes. “But I 

think it’s still you under there.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Numair’s voice was solemn, and he pulled a strand of her own hair in front of her face so she could 

see that it was so blonde it was nearly white. Daine whistled softly and pulled her braid over her shoulder, marvelling at 

the tamed, straight locks that felt like her own wild curls under her fingertips.

“Do I look Gallan?” 

“Hopefully we both do!” Numair pulled her closer and kissed her. “I’m proud of you. That was perfect.”

“It was so easy,” she said wonderingly. “Is that how normal magic feels?”

“It depends on the magic. I don’t know what healers do, and I guess you’re more like a healer than I am. I’m more of an 

explosion person.” 

“Explosions?” She blinked up at him, “Like... buildings, and castles, and armies?” 

“Yes, I suppose. But mostly candles.” He sighed and rested his chin against her head. “I was never any good at lighting the 

cursed things.” 

Daine giggled, realised he was serious, and then laughed louder. It was such an odd thing for a mage to admit to! “We should 

get going.”

“There’s something to be said for staying here, you know,” Numair murmured, slipping his hand under her tunic, fingers 

brushing lightly against the warm skin of her waist. Daine caught her breath, but smiled mockingly at him. 

“After all the effort it took to cast that spell?” She pulled a face. “We’re going. Besides,” She brushed a curl away from 

his eyes and ran her fingers lightly through his unsettlingly coloured hair. He shivered, and she couldn’t stop smiling even 

as she said, “Besides, you don’t look like the man I’m madly in love with.”

“Honesty at last!” He sighed dramatically. “And here I thought you liked me for my personality.” 

“That too,” she smiled at the mock-hurt on his face and ran her fingers lightly down his neck, her eyes mischievous. “When 

will the spell wear off?” 

“Not soon enough,” he whispered, his voice heated as he pulled her closer to kiss her.

“In some ways, this soppy stuff is even more annoying than when you two were arguing.” A familiar voice drawled behind them, 

and they both jumped and turned, blushing furiously, to see Alanna leaning against the wall. She smirked and held out a hand.   
“Daine, before you get too distracted, Hazelle told me about that... thing you want to sell. If you give it to me I can break 

the charms off it for you. It won’t take a minute, and then it’ll look less suspicious when you sell it. Otherwise, who could 

resist asking questions about it?” When they glanced at each other uncertainly, she dug into her belt purse and drew out a 

small bag. “Oh, and this is yours.”

Daine took the bag and nearly dropped it. It was heavy with coins. She blurted out, “I told Lady Hazelle I didn’t want...”

“It’s not from the lady.” Alanna interrupted. “It’s yours. Back pay. I guess Jonathan will want to reward you properly for 

warning us about the war, and helping Numair, and fighting off assassins, and whatever else you take it in your head to do. 

But he’s stuck in Corus, and as predictable as the man is I can’t read his mind. So, in the meantime, you’re on squire’s 

pay.”

“So this is from you? It’s your money?” Daine persisted, and Alanna rolled her eyes. 

“Aren’t you listening? I told you, it’s yours! You earned it.”

“Earned it.” Daine lifted the bag carefully, as if it might bite her, and inspected it. The knight looked at Numair, who was 

watching with amusement, and threw the second bag of money at him with petty quickness. He caught it easily and bowed his 

thanks, then tapped the still-stunned girl’s shoulder and reminded her that Alanna had asked for the chain. She flushed and 

tucked the money into her belt, then produced a knot of cloth. 

Alanna took the parcel which Daine hesitantly handed to her with a frown, and unwrapped it quickly. Her face twisted in an 

expression of disgust and she looked up at them sharply. “I thought she said it was just a chain. This is… this is vile.” 

“Well, you’ve never been over-fond of jewellery,” Numair quipped, but the words felt forced. 

He knew exactly what was going through Alanna’s head, because it was what he’d thought when he had first seen the silver 

chain. Daine had admitted to him in a lesson weeks after they escaped that although she had been forced to wear the chain for 

years she only knew what some of the runes did. He listened to her description silently: a tracking charm, a listening spell, 

a pregnancy charm and something the girl vaguely called the punishment charm. That sounded bleak enough, and when Daine had 

shivered at the memory the man found that he couldn’t bear to describe the others to her. 

“Why were there so many charms?” He asked instead, and she had looked thoughtful. 

“Well, Dakinn – that healer you yelled at, remember? He was in charge of them. Everyone started with the same chain but then 

sometimes he would try new charms on someone, or add a couple, or string them in a different order and see what happened.” 

Her voice grew softer, and there was an almost baffled note in her voice when she admitted, “I don’t think he really knew 

what he was doing, you know. Anja told me he came up with the chain idea and after that everyone was so relieved that the 

slaves had no magic that they just let him do whatever he liked. The first time they put my chain on all my hair fell out. I 

don’t think he would have done that on purpose. It just seems too odd to be anything except an accident.” 

Dakinn. Numair had hated the man in the prison, but sitting in the quiet library with his friend on that day he had felt the 

bitter heat of bloodthirsty anger boiling in his veins. Dakinn. Only a trained mage would know the runes he was casually 

stringing around people’s wrists, and only then as an academic exercise. Numair couldn’t think of a single person he knew who 

would willingly use them on another human being. They were charms which you would tie to a disobedient horse or a savage dog. 

They were meant to control the mind and stop the thoughts. 

They were charms to make you obedient and docile and... caged. 

One of them was simply the rune for fear. He had seen it in the prison, wrapped around the wrist of a girl who was too scared 

even to smile without pressing guilty white fingertips to trembling lips. He had been savagely glad when that had been the 

first charm to burn.

Alanna looked up with a question on her lips, but stopped and shrugged when Numair shook his head warningly at her. 

“Well, I guess it’s a rarity, so thank you for letting me see it. And I hope I never see the thing again.” She muttered, and 

bowed her head over it. The silver glowed violet for a moment, shuddering as if it were heating up on a hot skillet, and then 

the light vanished and every single charm dropped from it simultaneously. They rained down onto the tiles and skidded across 

the hall. 

“That was clever.” Numair remarked, relieved that something had distracted Alanna from her questioning. He strolled down the 

hallway after the charms that had rolled furthest away, whistling nonchalantly when Alanna glared at him. The knight and 

Daine stooped to pick up the nearer charms, throwing them into the scrap of cloth in an undignified heap.

“Did you want to keep this one?” Alanna asked abruptly, holding out a silver disc. Daine blinked and shook her head. 

“No. I don’t want to keep any of it. If I could, I’d smash it into dust.” 

“Are you sure?” Alanna’s voice was unusually soft, and Daine looked at the charm she was holding out. She recognised the soft 

gleam of the pregnancy charm, un-singed and still looking newer than the other tarnished charms. She froze and a thousand 

thoughts skidded across her mind even while she was shaking her head. 

“No.” She answered with absolute certainty, knowing that she would never change her mind. “I’m never wearing another charm 

again. Ever. Not theirs, not mine, not... not anyone’s. I won’t do it. I can’t.” 

“If you’re sure.” Alanna dropped the charm in the pile and shrugged, not trying to argue. Let Numair do it. Looking at the 

stubborn set of the girl’s jaw she doubted he’d be able to change Daine’s mind any more than the knight could anyway. The 

subject was dropped by the time Numair came back, hands full of the tiny trinkets. He dropped them onto the pile and dusted 

off his hands as if he’d touched something unclean. 

“I think the sooner we get rid of this, the better.” He said, and his voice was unusually angry. Alanna glanced down at a few 

of the charms he’d been carrying and shuddered, seeing what they were spelled to do. She folded the cloth over them hastily, 

and tied a knot in the bundle with vicious speed. Then she handed it to Daine and tried not to wonder what the girl had been 

like in the prison, with two dozen spiteful curses wrapped around her wrist. 

“Here,” she said, and forced herself to smile. “Have fun at the market.”


	30. Guilt 10

Daine hadn't been to a market in years, and never to one that was as grand as the market in the town. Lured by the midwinter festival, the main square was seething with jugglers and players, vendors and con-men, wealthy ladies in fine frocks and filthy children who jeered after the nobles for a few thrown coppers. The side streets were just as packed, and every shop was thrown open for customers. The wind was bitter, but someone had lit braziers along the main walkways, and with the press of people it was almost too warm.

At first Daine had to cling to Numair's arm, feeling like she would be swept away in the tide of people and never seen again. They sold the chain in the first blacksmith's stall that they found, and then wandered around aimlessly until they found an apprentice jeweller, who peered nervously at the blackened silver and named a price without thinking to ask what the runes said. As she handed the bag over Daine felt as if she was lighter, as if her freedom could be purchased for those scraps of metal. She smiled for the first time since they'd walked into the terrifying crush of people, and Numair squeezed her hand tightly for a moment.

 _Where shall we go next?_ He asked silently, watching the apprentice carefully as the nervous boy counted out money into a purse. Daine looked around, trying to see past the people and into the stalls which were set out under bright canopies.

 _We need to find a bow._ She replied, and he laughed gently.

_Yes, sweetheart, I suppose we do. But we don't have to do all the things that need to be done right away. Have you ever seen a juggler?_

And so began the happiest day of Daine's life. They spent the first few hours watching the players and the dancers, listening to the bright piercing flutes that the musicians played as the men and women span around in the market square. Because it was midwinter their heads were adorned with evergreen bouquets, and Daine couldn't believe that the bright green leaves stayed on their brows when they jumped over each other, and somersaulted through the air. The crowd cheered, and a troupe of jugglers pushed through the gathered players to throw brightly coloured balls through the air in a dizzying tangle. Then, when the crowd started sounding restless, they lit torches from one of the braziers and started flinging them through the air with the same wild abandon.

"Your eyes are like saucers." Numair teased her, when she couldn't look away. "I don't think you've blinked in the last hour."

"How do they do it?" She demanded, speaking aloud for the first time since they'd been amongst strangers. "Aren't they scared?"

"It's practice." He watched them levelly for a moment, a smile playing at his lips. "They practice until they're not scared any more, and then they practice some more. They are exceptionally good, aren't they?"

After the jugglers there were more dancers, and then a large man who told bawdy stories until the watchers were falling over each other laughing. After every show the cobbles were showered with coins, and small children with ribbons tied in their hair scurried forward to collect them in wicker baskets. When the dancers came out for the third time, Numair suggested they find something to eat, and then they wandered along the line of market stalls.

It was another hour before they even found a stall that sold food, because Daine couldn't stop herself from slowing down at every table and marvelling at the things they were selling. Where a small market might have a single butchers, and a trinket trader, this fair had dozens of people selling beautiful crafted wares as gifts for the midwinter holiday. There were shining bracelets and knotted leather headbands, gloves and boots and sweets and weapons. Daine stopped a few times to pick up a bow from the weapon stores, but as soon as she picked them up she shook her head and put them back. They were too light, or too heavy, or just badly made. Even though it had been years since she'd held a bow, some instinct in her hands told her straight away that the weapons weren't right.

They found a shop that sold simple clothes, and spent their first few coins on a stack of tunics, shirts and leggings. Daine felt oddly relieved when she tucked her clothes into her bag, and her hands brushed against the rough-woven fabric. They felt like they belonged to her: not just because she had bought them with her own money, but because they were the right kind of clothes for Daine to wear. She thought that Annette would never wear something so common, and the thought made her oddly pleased.

"Do you like this?" Numair asked, holding something in his hands. She smiled at him and looked to see that he was holding a belt. It was made from soft leather that still looked strong, and the craftsman had carefully tooled the leather to make the natural fades in colour look like the curves of petals and leaves. She ran a finger along the design, holding her breath as if she might scare the beauty of it away with a single sound.

"It's lovely," she said, "But I have a belt. And it's too nice for me."

"Too nice?" He raised an eyebrow, and his eyes challenged her. She blushed and looked at her feet.

"I didn't mean like that. I just... Alanna might say..."

He ran his fingers gently down her cheek, and then lifted her chin so she had to look up. He smiled when their eyes met and kissed her forehead.

"I didn't mean anything by it, magelet. I told you, today we're not doing anything that other people expect us to do. Alanna's quite happy to stroll into court covered from head to toe in mud, but she has no more right to tell you to do the same than Hazelle has to dress you like a doll. You're a beautiful woman, Daine, whatever you wear, and you should have things that make you happy."

"Are you the salesman now?" She whispered with a hint of mischief in her voice. He laughed and flushed slightly.

"Well, perhaps that was a little intense. Really, I just want to know whether it would make a good midwinter's gift for you!"

"Gift?" She blinked at him, and he turned away, covering his mouth to smother a laugh.

"Dear Shakith, my love, but sometimes you are so bafflingly innocent that I can't believe you're not doing it on purpose to tease me." He grinned at her, and joined the line of people waiting to pay the shopkeeper. Daine pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling as if she'd swallowed a butterfly. If she was bafflingly innocent, she thought, then he was bafflingly nice. What was the word she'd thought of for it in the prison – caring? She caught up with him and took his hand, resting her head mutely against his shoulder when he squeezed it in reply.

"There's a weapons seller outside," he said after a while, as another customer was complaining that their new boots pinched their toes. "Why don't you go and have a look? I'll be out soon."

The seller was packing knives into a crate when she stood nearby, shivering in the sudden chill as evening drew in. He glanced at her briefly, and then turned back to his task. Daine looked at the bows he had hanging along one of the wooden beams, but the few she hefted were too light, and she sighed. It seemed like they wouldn't find a bow today, after all.

"They're not right for you." It wasn't a question; the trader had his arms folded and a scowl on his face as he looked at her. She forced herself to smile, used to the rough way the salespeople spoke after a whole day among them, and agreed with him.

"You need something heavier." The man continued, and the girl blinked. The few other weapons traders who had spoken to her had asked if she wanted something smaller, easier for a girl to use, but she had outgrown such bows before she was even ten years old. Before she could ask how he knew that, the man had turned away and was rooting in another crate at the back of the stall.

"Um, you don't have to worry..." she started, knowing that most traders only kept the most expensive weapons out of the main display. As much money as Alanna had given her, she knew she could never afford the gorgeous weapons that were hidden away. They were for knights and kings, not normal people. The trader snorted through his nose, and it was such an odd sound that she stopped talking. He sounded almost like a deer, snuffling in the peat!

"Here." His voice was curt as he put the bow on the table. She hesitated, and his scowl deepened. "Well, child, go on! Pick it up and try it. It won't hurt you, you know. I didn't make it for you to be scared of it!"

She took the bow in a flustered rush without even looking at it. The wood felt warm, as if it had been lying in the sun, not hidden in a box in the middle of winter. It even smelled faintly of the odd, musty scent of a warm forest basking in the autumn sun. There were no splinters or rough patches when she ran her fingers along the curve of wood, and she smiled. That meant there were no weaknesses that would make it break, or weaken after a few short months.

"Here." The man's voice was a little gentler, almost apologetic as he held out a string. She smiled her thanks and strung the weapon, feeling an excited thrill as it bent pliantly under her hands. It was perfect – so much like the bow she'd had as a child that it seemed to come to life under her hands. She pulled the string back to her ear and smiled widely, releasing it with the ease of years of practice. Every other bow she'd touched that day had felt awkward under her hands, but with this one her un-practiced clumsiness seemed to melt away.

"It's perfect!" She said, and her voice was incredulous as she turned to look at the trader. "How did you..."

Her mouth fell open. There was nothing there. The stall was empty. No boxes of hunting weapons lay about on the ground, and there was nothing except a leather quiver full of arrows lying on the abandoned table. He couldn't have left in so short a time; she'd only been turned away for a few seconds, and it would take more than one trip to carry all those wares. The bow cooled in her fingers, and all that was left of the man was the lingering scent of the autumn forest.


	31. Guilt 11

"Let’s see what you can do, then.” Alanna’s voice was playful, but her eyes held serious interest as they headed into the garden.

Daine wrapped her fingers nervously around the bow, almost embarrassed at the thought of firing a weapon in front of the Lioness of Tortall. 

“I’m really out of practice,” she started, and then breathed out, “Well, you know that! It’s why we’re practicing.”

“Exactly.” Alanna smiled, but she glanced at the bow with concealed fascination. 

She had her own private idea about the weapon. From the moment that she’d first seen it she’d recognised the odd work of divine hands. As a woman who spent most of her life around weapons, she had never seen a bow like it. It was larger than most longbows, but the wood was light and supple enough to make the extra weight easy for the smaller woman to draw. The carvings on it were nothing like the maker’s marks it should have had, either: it was decorated like an ornate hunting bow, but there was no doubt that it was a weapon designed to see serious combat. She wondered if an arrow from it might be able to pierce armour, it looked that dangerous!

And yet Daine had been evasive about it, telling a story of an impatient seller packing up his wares, and selling her this weapon cheaply rather than have to take it home unsold. When Daine had asked if she could find a space to practice with the weapon Alanna had jumped at the chance to help.

“Here.” They stopped in a clearing, and Alanna gestured at the trees. “Horse chestnuts. Big leaves – try for one of them, first. Then I can throw nutshells if you want to try moving targets.”

Daine nodded and drew an arrow from her shoulder holster. She was relieved when the bow didn’t warm under her fingers again – it was unsettling enough to be distracting! But once again the bow just felt right in her hands, and when she shot at the leaves she hit them right in the centre with ease. The same thing happened when she tried to shoot the small nuts from the tree, and finally when Alanna threw some discarded shells through the air she picked them off one by one. 

“You didn’t miss a single shot.” Alanna breathed, almost unable to believe her eyes. Daine rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, and went to collect some arrows. 

“I used to be quite good.” Her voice was muffled. “I guess it’s something you don’t forget.”

“No,” Alanna told her, “It _is_. Daine…” She hesitated, and then asked: “Did you get this bow from a… a god?” 

Daine froze, and then said, carefully, “If a god wanted to help me, don’t you think they’re a little late?” 

“Um.” Alanna made a noncommittal sound. “Is that what you told yourself?”

“I don’t know what to think, really.” The girl slipped the arrows back into her holster and shouldered it. “He looked like a normal huntsman…”

Had he, though? Now she thought back, she hadn’t ever seen him properly. She could just recall his impatient eyes. Most of the rest of him had been hidden in shadow. Alanna saw her look of indecision, and crooked a finger for the girl to come closer. 

“Look,” she said, “The gods have their limitations, just like the rest of us. If you patron god is a hunter, then how could he have helped you before? What would have happened if you’d been given a bow in the prison?”

“Or perhaps they are helping someone else.” Daine countered. “Since they gave me a weapon right before the war. It would help you to have an archer who couldn’t miss a target if she tried, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes!” Alanna grinned, “But my goddess is a lot less subtle than that. The only god who seems to be able to do anything with any ulterior motive is the trickster – my husband’s patron - and if he’d been in the market I bet he wouldn’t have even tried to look ‘normal’. He’d find the very idea offensive.” 

“Do you think I should… ask them? Pray, or burn incense, or something? I don’t really know how to get them to talk to me.” 

“If you ever work that one out, tell the priests. A lot more people would make offerings in the temples if they could guarantee answers!” Alanna shrugged and started to walk back to the house. “I wouldn’t worry. It doesn’t matter why they gave it to you, really. It’s nice that they did, and I wouldn’t think about it any more than that.” 

“Then… will you promise me something?” Daine hesitated, falling into step beside the knight, “Will you keep it a secret? I don’t want them to know.”

“Not even Numair?” 

Daine laughed out loud. “You know as well as I do that if you’re trying not to overthink something, the last thing you should do is tell Numair about it.”

Hazelle was waiting for them impatiently when they got into the house, and grabbed both of their shoulders in surprisingly strong hands to stop them from leaving. “Both of you,” she said, “Are coming with me.” 

“Is it an assignment?” Alanna’s eyes gleamed, and then she frowned when Hazelle shook her head. When the old woman explained why she wanted them, the knight groaned loudly and threw her scarf against the wall. “I don’t need a damn tailor, Hazelle!” 

“It was your plan to confuse the officials, wasn’t it?” Hazelle matched her stubbornness with sharpness. “If you keep running around looking like you’re fresh from the battlefield then they’ll have a good idea of why you’re here.” 

Alanna sighed and kicked her feet against the tiles. Daine felt the corners of her lips twitching in amusement as she watched an adult soldier behaving like a sulky child. 

“Do I need to come, too?” Daine asked, looking hopefully away from the lady towards the comparative freedom of the servant’s quarters. If she escaped now she could help Bennette peel potatoes and listen to the cheerful servant’s cheeky gossip until Numair emerged from whatever boring magic book he was reading. Hazelle narrowed her eyes at her. 

“Am I looking at the young lady who burned her last dress?” She retorted.

“It was ruined!” Daine didn’t need to look around to know that now it was Alanna who was grinning. She stuck out her tongue at the knight. “And I didn’t burn it, she did! Make her go instead.”

“Honestly, children.” Hazelle sighed dramatically and herded the two women towards the door. “I shudder to think that you’re the last hope for Tortall.” 

As much as she protested, Daine was pleased with her new dress. At the last minute she had run up to her room and fetched the belt that Numair had given her. When she asked the tailor to make a dress to match it he had found a bolt of soft green fabric embroidered with scores of tiny ivy leaves and he promised to make it into a simple gown by the evening. 

Alanna was less easy to please, and eventually Hazelle had put her foot down and chosen the fabric for her. It was a very sulky woman who emerged from her room that evening dressed in warm ivory velvet. In token protest to the smart attire, her hair was the same messy tangle it had been when she’d walked through the garden that morning. 

“Well, I don’t know about the officials, but you’re certainly confusing me!” Numair greeted her when she ventured into the upstairs hallway. He had been waiting outside her room with his hands lazily linked through his belt. “Didn’t you always used to dress well at court?” 

“There are few things in the world more terrifying than Thayet thinking you’re badly dressed.” Alanna muttered, “And smug mages who are lucky enough to be allowed to wear tunics to parties will find out that one of the few more terrifying things is me when I’m annoyed.” 

“Ah, you look fine.” He leaned back against the wall and glanced at her. “If your clothes are the only things you’re worried about, then you’re a fool.” 

She scowled, understanding his barbed meaning immediately. He must have waited outside her room to challenge her but she had no patience for his meandering way of getting to the point. Her own voice was quite blunt.

“I know you don’t like this plan, but it was Daine’s idea, too.” 

“I know.” He said, “But I don’t think she would have suggested it if you weren’t here.”

“I didn’t force her to agree. She’s a bright enough girl to know her own mind.” Alanna snapped. Numair waved a hand, dismissing the terse exchange impatiently. 

“That’s not what I meant. I’m certain that you wouldn’t have been able to talk her in to doing something she thought was a bad idea. But… but you’re agreeing to this because of Tortall, and the border, and the soldiers you command. Daine is only thinking about the men in that room, and you don’t seem to realise how scared she is of them. She knows exactly how dangerous these men are, but you’ve given her hope that they can be defeated. You seem to think they’re unorganised, impulsive idiots who will be easily tricked. In truth they are vicious, cunning men. They’ve been clever enough to hide this plan from Tortall for years. They won’t be afraid of four strangers in fancy clothes.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?” She snapped. “Run away to my soldiers at the pass and let the officials barricade off the valley until their army is ready to invade? We need to know what they’re planning. And you’re wrong.” She took a breath, and then pressed on: “You’re wrong about Daine. She may be scared of them, and I wouldn’t blame her, but she’s determined to do anything she can to stop them. She’s got her priorities right. You’re so focused on protecting her that you’d let Tortall burn.” 

“That’s unfair.” The soft voice made them both turn, and Alanna flushed at the hurt expression on the girl’s face. Neither of them had noticed Daine arriving, and she fixed them both in a glare. “Numair exiled himself for years because there was a chance that he might be a threat. The only reason he did that was to protect Tortall. And for all you know, Numair, you might be right to say that I’m so shallow I’m only doing this for revenge. Is that right, Numair? How well you must know me! I’m not at all noble or… or brave, so don’t pretend I am.” 

Daine took a deep breath and looked away from them, her expression unreadable. “If you two want to keep arguing then go ahead. It seems like a fair good idea for us to spend our time fighting with each other, rather than with the people who want to hurt us. But I’m going. If I’m going to do this then I want to make the most of every minute.” 

The room was already swarming when Daine slipped through the door, shaking her head at the herald when he drew a breath to announce her. She recognised some of the men and woman as the ones who were always at these gatherings – some were spies from other countries, some were the local dignitaries who were automatically invited. She didn’t recognise some of the others, but this time she had a plan. She stood near them and shut her eyes as if she were listening to the music. Without the distraction of their fine clothes and pleasant smiles, she recognised three of the officials by their voices alone, and shivered. 

“Are you cold, my lady?” The voice was friendly, but she recognised the man as Lord Parsey: the official who had spoken to her in the tailor’s on her first day with Hazelle. She looked up and made herself smile, shaking her head. He tutted sympathetically and held out a hand. “Since we’ve been formally introduced, I can ask you to dance.” He said, “That should warm you up!”

She smiled and took his hand, hoping he would see her hesitation as shyness rather than disgust at having to touch him. He made polite conversation for half the dance, and then said something which made her start and ask him to repeat himself. 

“I said, it’s a shame that Lord Orsille can’t be here tonight.” He spun her around carefully and took hold of her hand for the promenade part of the dance. “His daughter is heartbroken, it seems. He’s rather fond of her, so he didn’t like the idea of coming face to face with your cousin.” 

She cut her eyes up at him, and the part of her that was Annette smirked in a confiding way. “Are you asking me to gossip, my Lord Parsey?”

“Gossip? I?” He returned the smirk. “Why would I gossip about why my dear friend’s daughter has been hurt?”

“Why would I gossip about my cousin?” She returned, and took his other hand for the reverse dance. As fast as her mind was working, it found a moment to mentally thank Hazelle for the dance lessons. She could almost do this dance without thinking. Still, she had to find an answer, and in the end she said, “I just don’t think it was working out. My cousin is a little… fickle.”

“Is that right?” Parsey raised an eyebrow. “He seems constant enough to you!” 

She fumbled his hand for a moment, and knew that she hadn’t been quick enough to hide her confusion. “To me, my lord?” 

“Yes!” He looked baffled at her confusion. “Apparently Karenna is blaming you for what happened. If you hadn’t been taken ill, it seems, then he would not have been distracted with caring for you, and she would have… what is the vulgar word she used?” he thought for a moment, and smiled. “Ah yes, _ensnared_ him.”

“Truly the words of a woman in love.” Daine said darkly, wondering how she had ever tried to like Karenna. Parsey seemed to share the thought, because his eyebrow rose, and he nodded. 

“I am glad you are recovered from your illness, Mistress Annette.” He said formally, bowing at the end of the dance. She nodded, still a little confused, and then remembered to curtsey. When she looked up he was walking away, glancing back thoughtfully every few steps. 

_So, that’s the story they’re using._ She thought, making a mental note. _Clever. So in this story, it’s our fault that they’re not here, but there’s no mention of the assassins…_

“D… Annette,” Numair said the false name a little clumsily, and she turned to see that he looked awkward, as if he were ashamed. “Do I owe you an apology?”

“You could just not say anything,” she said, realising that she was still annoyed with him. “I’d rather not talk about it.” 

“Okay.” He handed her a glass of cider and intentionally ignored the hint to leave her alone. “What shall we talk about instead?” 

When she was silent, sipping the spiced drink and not meeting his eyes, he started chattering inanely. “Oh, my dear cousin, I fear that my dearest friend may be angry with me! I thought to bring her flowers but, alas, it is winter. Then I happened upon the plan to bring her a whorl of frost, as they are almost like flowers, but it melted! I thought through every poem I have ever heard, but none of them mentioned how to beg for forgiveness with a puddle, and so I am desolate...” 

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “You’re impossible.” 

“No, I just know when I’ve been caught in the wrong.” He said, his voice serious. “I spoke badly, and I’m sorry. So is Alanna. I still think this is a bad idea, but it’s decided now. And Alanna was right – there’s really nothing else we could do that wouldn’t have just as many flaws.” 

“High praise.” Daine’s voice was dry, but she caught his hand for a moment. “Thank you for trying to protect me.” 

He raised his other hand for a moment and touched her cheek, then dropped it with a nervous glance at the room around them. No-one seemed to have noticed, and he squeezed her hand in reply before he let go, ready to walk away. “Have a good evening, my little one.”

The moon had almost filled the empty, icy sky by the time the last of the guests trailed away, and several of the servants were dozing in quiet shaded corners when the head footman bolted the heavy front door shut and pulled the bar down across its rivets. Daine yawned and rubbed her eyes, wondering if the room was really spinning or if her tired mind thought it was still dancing. There had been so many new men that Hazelle had asked her to dance with, and her arms felt stiff from holding them out in the stupid gestures that were supposed to be so graceful. 

“Annette,” Hazelle said, and the girl jumped. She was so sleepy she’d barely realised the woman was there. She looked up guiltily and saw that the old woman’s eyes were as sharp as ever, although the skin around them was puffy with tiredness. 

“Yes, ‘m?” She mumbled around another yawn. The lady smiled. 

“I’m sorry, child. I know you’re tired but I need you to report back to me before you go to bed. I wouldn’t want you to forget some important detail by the morning.” 

“Report back?” Daine asked, and then thought about all the new people. “Oh, you want to know if they were officials.”

When Hazelle nodded the girl shook her head with absolute certainty. “Not any that I’ve met, that’s for sure. They were all strangers to me. Is that all you wanted to know?” 

“Yes, that’s all.” The woman patted her on the shoulder affectionately. “There’ll be lots of new people this time, and I’ll be asking every night, Annette. If you recognise someone I’d like you to tell me as much as you remember about what they do in the keeps.”

It turned into an almost pleasant ritual. For the next few weeks, after the door had been safely bolted against the retreating backs of their guests, Daine would meet up with the old woman and describe anyone she recognised over a glass of warm milk and some biscuits. Often the meetings were quite brief since Daine only knew the men she’d had direct contact with in only one of the keeps, but sometimes there was a lot she had to recount. 

There were men who were responsible for organising the prisoners’ food ration, and then there were men who oversaw every single warhorse who the girl had been asked to treat in the fort’s impressive stables. Hazelle noted down all of them in the same impassive way, but it was difficult for Daine to watch Numair’s expression when she spoke. He knew more about her past than anyone else in the world, and yet there was so much that she hadn’t shared with him that she couldn’t bear to see his reaction. She kept descriptions of her own personal encounters with each man as brief as possible, and never explained how they’d treated her beyond a few flat words. 

Then there was the man who Hazelle seemed more interested in. Why was she interested? Because Daine had taken two steps into the cards room that evening and turned white at the sight of him. Before she could collect herself she had to dart outside and vomit into the snow. Of course Hazelle was interested. 

“He was a soldier.” Daine said in a dead little voice. “He was in charge of the guard mages. They’re slimy, pathetic cowards who stop the other slaves from escaping and think that makes them better than the rest of us, somehow. He was in charge of them. That’s all.” 

“Why did you react like that, then?” Hazelle asked. Daine shot her a look that was so bitter, so black, that the woman’s mouth closed with a snap. 

“He made me remember something that’s not important to you, and that you can’t use for your war, and that isn’t any of your business. That’s all.” 

Numair hadn’t been in the room when Daine had been sick, and he definitely hadn’t heard what she’d said to Hazelle, but that night he took one look at her and knew that something was wrong. He waited for her to climb into bed, seeing the defensive way that she wrapped her arms around her knees, and then very carefully thought about what to say. 

“You do that when you remember.” He said softly, knowing better than to try and touch her when she was in that state. 

She didn’t look up, and he hesitantly wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She flinched at being touched for a second, and then smiled apologetically at him and tugged the warm wool around her body more securely. 

“You know what you said to Alanna a few weeks ago?” She whispered eventually. He looked puzzled, so she filled in: “About me agreeing to this spy stuff to get revenge on those men, not to help your country?” 

“It was unfair.”

“It might be true.” She shrugged. “I saw a man tonight… an official… and I thought how unfair it was that someone like him is _nothing_ to people like Alanna and Hazelle. To win the war they’d have to ignore him and focus on someone far more important. But the important people - the ones I recognise, at least – they didn’t hurt me nearly as much as the people like him. The only important official I’ve recognised is Orsille. He’ll be targeted. I’ll get some vengeance, I guess.” 

She winced and lay down on her back. “But not the others. Not the man I saw today. And they deserve it, too. I saw him today and I just wanted to claw his eyes out.” 

“What…” Numair cleared his throat, stopping his question in its tracks with a guilty expression. Daine cut her eyes sideways at him.

“What did he do? It’s alright,” her voice was gentle, “I knew you’d want to know. I worked that out before I even came in the room. And I guess you can tell Hazelle in the morning, and then I can apologise for yelling at her earlier without her nagging me with questions.” 

“Is he as bad as Orsille?” Numair asked instead. Daine shook her head. 

“It’s not as simple as that. I mean, Orsille did what he did because he knew he could get away with it. But he – the man tonight – ugh, I don’t even know his name! – But did it because they paid him money to do it. Does that make it better or worse? He had two jobs. I told Hazelle about one. He was in charge of the guard mages. I didn’t tell her about the other job.” 

Numair waited in silence, not pushing her to say any more than she wanted to, and Daine blinked at the ceiling for a moment before she started speaking again. Her voice had picked up the odd lilt of storytelling from listening to Numair, and it was strange to hear her repeat back vile deeds in the same melodies that he used to describe beautiful distant lands. Numair shivered at the association and kept listening.

“Do you remember Anja? The witch with the dreadlocks who tried to kill me?” Daine waited for his nod, and then smiled crookedly. “She got to the prison a few years before I did, and before they threw her in the pit she was quite pretty. Handsome, really. She had this way of walking that made you think she was dancing. So, of course, the officials wanted her. They wanted to treat her the same way that they treated me. They put the extra charm on her bracelet and drew lots for her.” 

“It was like a game to them. They made no secret of it. I’d only just been released from the cell under the walls and even I knew it was going on, for all that I was still trying to find my way and work out who to obey. They drew lots for her, like they did for every woman. The man who won…” a small smile crossed the girl’s face, and it was almost ugly in its sadism.   
“Well, I don’t know his name either. But later on we all heard him screaming. Turns out that while they were drawing lots, Anja was making plans of her own. She bit off the man’s tongue.” 

Daine laughed then. It was a short, hollow sound which fell flat in the warm room. Numair found that he had been holding his breath. He let it out in a silent rush. He could well believe that the crazed woman who had attacked them in the solar could bite off another person’s tongue. But he didn’t know what it could have to do with an official’s job until Daine carried on. 

“I heard it from my room and looked out into the courtyard. At first I couldn’t see anything, but --- Anja was laughing this strange, wild sound, and then the man ran out into the yard for help. He wouldn’t stop screaming but it sounded wet and choked because he was bleeding so much, and it caused such an uproar that everyone got involved, and a few of the other prisoners started shoving at the officials and guards, and before you knew it there was a brawl in the middle of the courtyard with this man bleeding and howling in the middle of it, and Anja just laughing, laughing, laughing.” 

“The guard mages rushed in and broke up the brawl, and three people never woke up. All slaves they were, and no-one would have cared except that later on the official bled to death too. Skilled healers they might have, but I’ve never yet heard of a man who can make a new tongue from nothing-and-magic. After that the higher officials were angry. They threw Anja into the pit and that was the last I ever saw of her until they… until I… well, that’s another story. The point is that after the official died, the leaders told the others that if anything like that ever happened again there would be severe punishments, and not just for the slaves.” 

“You’d think they would just decide to stop their stupid horrible games and leave us alone, but they didn’t want to give that up. So instead, they gave this man his new job. He called it ‘instructing’ but it was filthy, rotten work.” 

“People used to try to hide when he walked past, just in case they were on his list. If any of the officials wanted one of us, this man’s job was to make sure that we were… were tamed. He took you into the soldiers’ barracks for a week or so, and by the time you came out…” she swallowed heavily. “Well, you’d learned that fighting back was useless.”

“I know some people who went in with brown hair and came out with grey, or who came out with the sort of scars that never properly heal. No-one knew for certain what he did, because it was always different, and the waiting… when we knew our time was soon, we were so scared of him that you could hear people sobbing at night five or six cells away. When he came for me I still had a voice. By the time they released me I couldn’t even scream.” 

“What did he do to you?” Numair whispered, but he had his head cradled in his hands as if he couldn’t bear to look up. Daine shook her head and turned onto her side, her back to him. 

“No, my love, I’m not going to tell you that.” She said distantly. “What he did to me was no worse than what he did to so many other women. I don’t know that I deserve pity or revenge any more than they do. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because he’s nobody. This game we’re playing will only punish the people who threaten Tortall, and for all his faults that man looks fair blameless as far as Alanna or Hazelle are concerned.” 

She looked back over her shoulder then, seeing that the man was watching her with an odd expression in his black eyes, and she smiled self-mockingly. “That said, I _did_ think about telling Hazelle he was a weapons master or something important, just to make sure that he didn’t make it out of this unscathed… but I’m not a liar. Not like that.” 

“I would have lied. He deserves it.” Numair said darkly. Daine’s smile turned crooked. 

“If you want to lie, tell me that you want revenge on that man for any other reason than because he hurt me.” 

“That’s enough of a reason.” The man said darkly. “I don’t need any other.” 

“I know you don’t.” Daine sighed and closed her eyes, “But I’m starting to think that I do.”


	32. Guilt 12

The next day Numair was unusually quiet. He excused himself quite soon after breakfast to walk about the grounds by himself. He hadn’t returned to the library by the time Daine finished her lessons with Hazelle, nor did he appear for their evening meal. It was only later when the lamps had been lit and the guests started arriving for another card party when he appeared, looking worn and dishevelled but wearing a polite, glasslike mask that betrayed none of his thoughts. 

The guests were the same as the previous evening, having returned for the second hand of the intricate game they’d begun the night before. The mage lurked around the tables for an hour or so, learning the names and faces of the people in the room with the same eerie brightness in his expression. Then he sat down at a table, drew his chair up to the group and smiled when they dealt him in. As the evening drew on he topped up the glass of the man beside him, playing him with wine until the man was quite drunk. He matched him in his cups, and by the time both men staggered up from the table they were both unsteady on their feet. 

Hazelle watched them leave, seeing that Numair was walking into the garden with the man who had scared Daine so violently the night before. She was too well-trained to let her suspicions show on her face, but crooked a finger at a servant and whispered in the man’s ear. He nodded, and crossed the room to where Daine was speaking quietly in her own card group. At the servant’s hushed message the girl paled, but Hazelle saw how little her hands shook when she put her cards down, smiled at the guests, and politely excused herself. She walked steadily to the door and walked out into the hallway, fetching her own cloak and gloves. Then she slipped out into the garden and waited just outside the circle of torchlight that lit the entrance.

After a long wait a lone figure walked up to her, and Daine didn’t move as the man leaned against the wall beside her. Numair was breathing raggedly, and his rapid breaths steamed in the frozen night air. He smelled of wine. Daine refused to think any more about the other scents. Not that metallic darkness of blood that clung to him, nor the ragged sharp smell that spoke of snapped pine branches. 

“What did you do?” Daine asked in a flat voice. The man didn’t answer, but he showed her his un-gloved hands. In the torchlight the bloodstains looked black against his icy skin. Daine said nothing, but she looked away and stared at the ground.

“We argued over cards.” Numair’s voice was rough. “He’s too much in his cups to remember anything other than that. He’ll think he was caught cheating when he wakes up tomorrow. He’ll think… he’ll know... that he deserved it.” 

Daine didn’t say anything, but she took a deep breath and looked up at the icy sky. It was so clear of clouds that the starts were painfully bright. 

“This was my fault.” She said finally. “I shouldn’t have told you anything. I should have known you would do this.” 

“I had to.” 

“No.” She snapped, her voice suddenly sharp. “You didn’t.”

He looked askance at her for a moment, and she ran a hand through her hair fitfully. Her fingertips caught on the bone pin which held her curls up, and she yanked it out in an irritable tangle of curls and pins. When she stared at the intricately carved pin the whirls in it made her feel giddy, and her words came out in a bitter whisper. 

“What have you done, Numair? You make me think I should keep things secret from you.” 

He didn’t answer, and after a long pause she said, “Numair, you can’t fight every person who I tell you about. How quickly do you think they’d work out who we really are? And I don’t want you to put yourself through this for me. Can’t you understand that? We can’t just… we can’t be like we were before they locked us up. We have to be better than that. There’s a right way to do things, and we have to stick to it!” 

“I’m sick of it.” He spat, and there was a furious note in his voice that made her step back. “Daine, I hate it. Why can’t we just leave this cursed place to the demons and live our own lives? Every time I hear Hazelle call you Annette or some official call me Leto I want to curse at them. That’s not who we are, and it’s not the lives we’ve led. We didn’t fight for so long just to spend the rest of our days pretending to be other people around men and women we despise. This game is not going to solve anything for us without taking a hell of a lot more payment first.”

“B…but it’s better.” She whispered.

He laughed hoarsely, the sound coloured by both his own emotions and the wine which still made him slur his words. 

“Better? You might think you escaped from the prison when we climbed out of that window but those men still have more power over you than any other free woman in the world. Every man who has the power to make you afraid still has a hold over you, Daine. And _I won’t let them have you_. Not anymore, Daine. I can’t. I won’t. You’re _mine_ , not theirs.” 

This time it was Daine who couldn’t think of an answer, although a thousand thoughts darted through her head at his words. He saw her confusion and leaned back against the wall, stumbling slightly over the stone paving as he moved from the slippery snow onto the gritted surface. Before she could ask him why he was moving he gripped her shoulder, and his hand was painfully tight as he drew her closer. 

Daine instinctively gasped and dragged herself away. He hadn’t hurt her but her heart raced. She was almost terrified by the claw-like hand which hardly seemed like it belonged to the man she loved. When he saw her fear he let her go with a hiss and his words became darker, more dangerous. He leaned closer and she took a step back, feeling the rough wall against her back and the warm sourness of alcohol that made him press against her and made him speak in a low possessive growl. 

“Tell me _everything_ , Daine. Every secret you tell me about those monsters is another chain I can break, and by Mynoss I will tear through every one of them to keep you. I _want_ to. I can make you free. They should burn for what they did to you.” 

“No!” She shrieked, and pressed her hands over her ears. “Stop it! I don’t _want_ that!”

She glared up at him with eyes shocked into tears. For a second the eyes which looked back at her were so dark, so black, that she thought she was looking into the eyes of the hawk. She bit back a sob and pressed her hands over her face, not wanting to look at him. 

“You’re drunk.” She said shakily, refusing looking up in case she was wrong. She couldn’t bear to see what other demon might be lurking in his veins. She felt sick thinking that she might have caused this… this madness. “Numair, you’re not yourself. You… you’re not…” 

She gulped and shook her head wildly. When he drew a breath to retort she raised her hands and shoved him violently away from her. Then she fled. 

Daine slept in the kitchen that night, sharing the warm hearth rug with a litter of kittens that the kitchen maids had been cooing over for several days. It was the first night that she’d slept alone for weeks. Despite the warmth of the fire and the comforting bodies of the cats curled around her she woke up several times. Her dreams were haunted by murderous black eyes and every time she awoke she found herself reaching out. Her whole body yearned for comfort from someone who simply wasn’t there. 

Despite the nightmares she obstinately stayed in the kitchen for the whole night, refusing to check their link to find out where Numair was or if he had found his own sleep. She must have slept eventually though, because suddenly it was morning and the scullery maid was trying to relight the range as quietly as possible. It was an impossible task with the clumsy iron tools she was wielding in tiny hands. Daine sat up, and the cook patted her on the shoulder sympathetically. 

“Lady Hazelle told Thomas to pour a bucket of ice water on ‘is lordship this morning, if you so wished it.” She shaped the words through a crooked-toothed grin and rattled off a tired laugh. “She ain’t got no patience for them as can’t hold their cups, and I guess you’re not best pleased with ‘im neither.”

Daine rubbed her eyes and smiled wanly. “He’ll probably have a headache already. Let’s not make his mood worse.”

“Ahr.” The cook looked subtly disappointed and turned away to fetch a sack of oats. “Want to help me make t’porridge then, lass, since you’re down here? Or are you just the type to play with me kittens and not work, like them maids?” 

“No, I’ll help.” Daine found the will to smile and got up, prompting a chorus of petulant mewing.

They had barely gotten the milk warm, and were stirring hard oats into the spiced liquid with a long spoon, when someone cleared their throat behind them. Daine looked around and fumbled the spoon, almost too confused to hold onto it. 

“Hullo, magelet.” Numair said quietly. He took the spoon from her clumsy hands and took over stirring. A large bruise was darkening over one of his cheekbones, and although he had tried to hide it under a few strands of hair the effect was rather bedraggled. Daine bit her lip and touched the bruise with cool fingertips. He didn’t flinch at her touch but looked at her silently, waiting for her to speak first. 

“Are we bad for each other?” She whispered in the end, her eyes shining with tears. He shook his head impatiently and hugged her, his arms strong around her back. 

“Daine,” he let her go and said seriously, “I’m not… I’m not happy with the way things are. I don’t like all the pretending, but I was wrong to take that out on you. In all honestly I don’t think you understand how much better life can be. But I shouldn’t expect you to… to know what it really means to be free.” 

“You weren’t free.” She replied. “You were drunk and angry and you did something completely senseless just because it made you feel better.” 

He winced. “Well, I prefer doing senseless things than doing nothing at all.” 

“And even though I asked you not to, you think I was wrong because… because if I was truly free then I would be fighting those men myself?” She blinked up at him and planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t think that’s right. I choose _not_ to fight them. It’s as much my own free decision as choosing _to_ fight them, and it was you who took that freedom away from me last night, not them.” 

He frowned, looked like he was about to say something, and then rubbed his forehead as if it ached. 

“Let’s pretend, just for a second, that we were really married. Properly married, Daine. Imagine that. Everyone knows our real names, and they know that I’m your husband and that you‘re my wife. We have everything we ever wanted – everything you ever dreamed of, and everything I thought I’d lost forever. We’re safe and happy and every night we fall asleep together in front of a warm fire in a country where it never gets cold enough to freeze the doors to their frames. Pretend all that, just for a moment, and now let’s say that a man walks in to our home and attacks you. Would you really expect me to just let him walk away without paying for what he did? Of course not. And no-one, no-one, would blame me for breaking the bastard’s nose. They’d know I did it because you’re my wife, and because I love you, and because I want you to be safe.” 

“But that’s not what actually happened…” she started. He shook his head, and waved a hand as if he were trying to make her understand. 

“No, look… you say we have to keep up the façade, and that it will keep us safe. Why? Because we’re not… what, Daine? We’re miraculously not murderers anymore? Because Hazelle’s twenty guards can protect us from an army of mages? Neither of those things is even close to being true. As long as we keep lying about who we really are we’re not going to be safe. We’re becoming too scared to defend ourselves in case people find out who we really are. That means I… I can’t be Leto if it means you’re going to be at risk. I can’t defend you as him.”

“Who are you going to be, then?” Daine asked, narrowing her eyes. “Because I could have sworn that a few weeks ago you told me that the parts of us who fought people were our enemies. You said that. You can’t just become the Hawk when it suits you. You can’t say that it’s okay that you hurt someone because you did it out of love for me. Last night I was _afraid_ , Numair. You terrified me. And do you know why?” 

The girl saw him flinch and bit the inside of her cheek, feeling horrible but having to finish her sentence. However hurtful it was, it was true. “I was terrified that I would lose you forever. That you would become that monster and I would never see you again – and for what? A bit of petty revenge?” 

She laughed harshly and turned away. “Nothing is worth that to me, Numair. If you don’t know that then… then we really _must_ be bad for each other. Because nothing the officials ever did to me could hurt me more than you throwing your life away like that.” 

He looked like he was going to retort, but then he bit his lip and turned away abruptly. Taking the earthen jug to the kitchen meltwater barrel and drawing up another load of water clearly gave him time to calm his thoughts, although his eyes were still seething when he returned. He poured the icy water into the oats which hissed as they cooled. In their argument neither of the mages had noticed the bottom layer of porridge burning to the pot. 

Daine hesitantly took his unresisting hand. “I don’t think we’ll ever agree on this. But it’s done, isn’t it? We can't take it back. And I guess you wouldn't want to. So… so we won’t say anything else about it.” The girl told him, and then she looked very unsure of herself. “Un… unless it happens again. But it won’t. Not like that.” She looked up at him, and for a moment her eyes were pleading. “Will it, Numair?” 

He looked at her for a long time, his expression inscrutable, and then he looked down into the porridge pot. “I won’t say another word about it, sweetheart.” 

It wasn’t quite the answer Daine had wanted, and neither of them managed anything close to either an apology, but for the present it felt like enough. 

It wasn’t. It was not nearly enough, and both of them knew it deep down. But it was only a few weeks later, after it was too late to take their silence back, that either of them thought back bitterly to that morning when they had pretended to understand. They had kissed each other so sweetly while they treated one another’s darkest secrets like passing whims. Neither of them could have guessed exactly how far their resolve would be tested in the months to come. 

The next weeks passed much as they had before.

Once they were used to the idea that any of the gathered officials could be in on Orsille’s plans it was easier to pretend to enjoy themselves. They could laugh at the jokes and dance with them without their hands curling into nervous fists. Daine was constantly amazed that none of the officials recognised her. She never even noticed them looking at her curiously. After a while she saw the way that the men’s eyes flitted over their servants’ faces without recognition and understood a little better: as a slave she had been less than nothing to these people, so they had no need to remember anything about her. As a lady – as an apparent heiress – they even noticed when the maids parted her hair on the opposite side. 

There was a tense atmosphere at every party, whether it was a dance or a banquet or a night of card games. It was as if everyone were holding their breath. They all knew they were watching each other, but it was as Alanna had said: because the Tortallans had made no counter to the assassins, the officials had no idea what they should do next. After a month of increasingly friendly parties the knight was having to go into the garden and curse loudly at the trees for a few hours in the morning, needing something to break the tension. 

Daine and Numair didn’t need to curse at the trees, because they had each other. As soon as the last guest had left and they had shared what they found out with Hazelle and Alanna, they excused themselves. As soon as they locked the door of their room it was as if Leto and Annette had simply ceased to exist, and all the plots and conspiracies were unimportant. Instead of finding out dark secrets, they found out about each other, with loving, artless fascination. 

Sometimes, exhausted from the evening’s work, they shared stories, hopes and secrets. They often spoke in soft voices until dawn, falling asleep with linked arms like innocent children. Not so innocent were the nights when their heartbeats raced and they tore at each other’s’ clothes, barely letting the door lock behind them before they surrendered to mindless passion. 

Then there were the nights when the guests went home early and they lay down in each other’s embrace, content just to be held closely and speaking without the need for words. Those nights were gentler, as they learnt each other’s bodies as intimately as they knew each other’s thoughts. Every morning, Daine woke up and remembered anew that she was loved, and that the arms that held her belonged to the man she adored, and every morning she marvelled at how happy it was possible for two people to be. 

Alanna teased them mercilessly, of course, when she joined them every morning to practice meditation. Daine stopped blushing after the first week, realising that the barbed comments hid the fact that the knight was genuinely happy for them. 

The woman was so fascinated by the way their magic was entwined that she often forgot to practice her own meditation, watching instead the way that they could wander in and out of each other’s magic with ease and use their own gift to strengthen the other. After the successful illusion spell, Numair had suggested that they each practice casting magic with the other’s help, until both of them could work on quite complex magic without being afraid that their wild natures would escape. 

“It’s almost like being normal again,” Numair said, smiling when he quickly lit the fire, extinguished it with a snap of his fingers, and then relit it in liquid flames which glowed with bronze and black sparks. Daine grinned and didn’t answer, caught up with greeting the flock of cats that she had called to her from every corner of the house and grounds with one strong burst of her own magic. The kittens that had slept by the hearth had grown up, and the last memories of their argument had faded alongside their babyish mews. 

The days were peaceful, the nights were wondrous, and if Daine had thought like a slave for a single moment she would have realised that things were too good to last. Each day was shadowed only by the evenings they spent with the officials, in air that was now so thick it felt like molasses. After nearly three months, when the snow was almost melting and the passes were nearly clear enough to march through, the officials finally made a move. In a few heartbeats the simple happiness fled from their lives.


	33. Guilt 13

On their last day all four of them ate breakfast together, making the usual jokes about the almost-cold porridge and teasing Daine about the burned toast when the girl picked at her food. After breakfast the mages meditated in Hazelle’s library while the lady left to run some errands in town. When Hazelle returned she told them that she’d paid a visit to the tailor and he’d been asking after Annette, but of course, no-one thought that there was anything unusual about his question until much later that night. By then, they all understood his betrayal keenly. 

Lunch was just as normal as a lunch could be. Because it was the last meal, you might expect that one of the servants might trip and fall, or that one of the cats might jump onto the plate of cold fish. But it was unremarkable. It was one of the rare afternoons when Hazelle hadn’t found chores for her guests to do in the afternoon. In the absence of dress fittings or archery practice, Daine and Numair curled up together in a window seat and laughed softly over something the man had found in a book that morning. They turned the pages slowly, whispering to each other as they read.

 

“How are you two not sick of each other by now?” Alanna drawled, on her way to do some sword drills in the courtyard. They smiled at each other, and she rolled her eyes in mock disgust. “Ugh, it’s like being the third wheel in a honeymoon around here. I’m going to pretend to kill people. That’s what _normal_ people do, you know. Have a nice afternoon!” 

They bid her the same, and as soon as the woman had left the room Daine turned and kissed her lover, her eyes mischievous. “How would you like to spend your afternoon, my love?” 

 

“I have a few ideas.” He replied in kind, and laughed at her raised eyebrow. “Alanna said we should have a _nice_ afternoon, after all.” 

 

“We shouldn’t argue with her. It’d be rude!” Daine caught his lips for a fleeting moment and shivered when she felt his arms move around her. Something square poked into her spine, and she winced and twisted around. “What on earth…?” 

 

“I thought I’d do some reading.” The man had the gall to sound pompous as he smirked at her, and the girl made an indignant noise and caught the book he was still holding. He made himself look confused, although he was rather too out of breath to carry off the act for long. “What? It’s a nice way to spend an afternoon…” 

 

Daine hid a smile against his temple and then made her voice stern. “Drop the book, Numair.” 

 

“ _Drop_ it?” He looked aghast. “Why would I ever do that?” 

 

Rather than answer Numair’s teasing the girl moved to straddle his lap and let her hand slowly drift along his thigh. Holding his gaze with laughing, heated eyes, she let her fingers trace maddening circles higher and higher along his leg until her lightest touch made him shiver. She smiled, not breaking his gaze until she lowered her head to nuzzle against his neck. 

“Drop… the book.” She murmured, and caught his ear between gentle teeth. 

 

He hissed between his teeth and there was a thud as the volume fell to the ground. Daine barely had chance to gloat over her victory, because then one of his hands was in her hair and the other was strong on her hip, drawing her closer with a hunger that made her giddy. She opened her mouth under his insistent lips and leaned into him. Even with layers of cloth between them their bodies knew each other, and Daine moaned softly as she felt her lover harden beneath her. 

“Wait,” she whispered, and tried to catch her breath. “Not here.” 

 

“You started it,” he retorted, catching her chin to kiss her again. The girl found her thoughts flitting away until his hand moved from her chin to her breast. She shook her head and stopped his hand, dragging herself back. Someone could come in at any moment to clear the lunch plates away. 

 

She kept hold of Numair’s hand and led him up to their room. When the door shut behind them she kissed him again, feeling his lips twitch in a smile as his hands encircled her waist. 

 

Numair started untying her overdress with impatient fingers. When he drew the fabric away she shivered in the cool room, and he wrapped his arms around her for a moment. It was strange to see her translucent skin outlined by bluish-grey winter light, and he thickly realised it was the first time they’d made love during the day. He kissed her and asked curiously, “What’s brought this on, magelet?” 

 

“I don’t know.” She said, a hint of a laugh in her voice as she kissed her way along his jaw. “I didn’t think about it. I just feel so… so _odd_.” 

 

“Odd.” He repeated, and a fine line appeared between his eyes. “Daine…” 

 

She kissed him again, and he couldn’t help forgetting the question as he spun her around and pushed her back against the door. Her breath caught as he pressed closer to her. She slid her arms sinuously around his shoulders so she could reach up to murmur in his ear, “Why are you thinking so much?” 

 

Numair looked at her for a moment. If he had asked her the question then, her answer might have stopped everything that happened later that night. But Daine was looking back with a guileless expression that said she knew exactly what he was thinking, and why, and that any answer she gave would not involve words.

 

He decided it was better to wait for her to tell him in her own time. Still, once the thought was in his mind it was hard to shake off, and when they lay down together he held her with loving gentleness as if she were made of Yamani china. 

 

It was growing dark by the time they arose, and rather than bother the servants they helped each other to dress in their courtly clothes, making snide comments about the fiddly clasps and ties and teasing each other mercilessly. Daine caught sight of herself in the mirror and blinked, then raised a hand to her hair. 

 

“I’ve never worn it down before,” she said absently, “They always tie it up for me. But I think it looks fine.” 

 

He smiled and combed the curls out with his fingers. “It’s a little tangled, sweetling!” 

 

“Well, if anyone says anything I’ll tell them that it’s your fault,” she winked at him in the mirror, and then sighed and leaned backwards when he kissed her neck. “Oh, I wish we could stay here.”

 

He didn’t answer, but finished combing out her hair and ran his fingertips through it until the wild curls lay tamed against her shoulders. “Daine,” he started, the line appearing between his eyes again, “Do you think it’s possible that you’re…” 

 

“Annette!” Hazelle’s voice rang out from the corridor, and they both instinctively looked out of the window at the darkening sky. It was far later than either of them had realised. Daine sighed and turned around. 

 

“We’ve been up here all day. If I’m late to the party too we’ll never hear the end of it.” She reached up and kissed Numair swiftly, biting back a giggle when he caught her waist and pulled her back for a much longer, much more enjoyable kiss. When they heard Hazelle call out a second time they both groaned and parted with some reluctance. 

 

“Daine, are you…” Numair had blushed bright red as soon as he started talking, and he only got a few words into his sentence before he stumbled over the words. 

 

Daine found that his hands had tightened around her waist as if he thought she would run away. She frowned and ran her hand soothingly along his. His knuckles were nearly white, and she knew he’d get leaves printed onto his palms from her belt. That would be difficult to explain away. Whatever thought had distracted Numair earlier in the afternoon had clearly returned with enough of a vengeance that he hadn’t noticed. 

 

The question he had started had failed him. Numair resorted to stating facts. “Daine, you said you feel odd, and… and… and you didn’t eat any breakfast.” 

 

“So?” Her eyes were wide, absolutely innocent. “The toast was burned.” 

 

“Yes. But it wasn’t burned yesterday but you didn’t eat anything _then_ , either. And the day before that…” The man blushed even redder. “Sweetling, you would _tell_ me if you were…” 

 

 _“Annette!”_ The delicate old lady’s voice was strident in its irritation. “The guests are asking after you, my dear!” 

 

“I’d better go.” Daine pulled away from him, not meeting his eyes or letting him finish the question. The door clicked closed behind her. 

 

Numair sighed and then followed her. 

 

The guest who was asking after Annette was Lord Parsey, and as he had done for the past few weeks, he greeted her by bowing over her hand and asking her to dance. 

 

When the slow dance was finished the girl was surprised when the official asked her to walk onto the veranda with him. She hesitated, but agreed: although the garden still didn’t seem safe when the officials were around, the paved walkway could be easily seen from the windows of the main hall. 

 

They walked together for a moment, speaking of nothing in particular. Then Parsey said, with absolutely no change in his tone, “I can never get used to how different you look without that chain around your wrist.”

 

She whitened and tripped, and he reached out a chivalrous hand to help her. “That was graceful, Mistress Annette. Is Annette your real name? From before, I mean?”

 

“No.” She whispered, knowing there was no use in lying when her own clumsiness had told him the absolute truth. “No, it isn’t.”

 

“What _is_ your… actually, no.” He pulled a face, and then sighed dramatically. “Why ask? I know you won’t tell me the truth. I have other ways to find out. And it’s not important. You don’t need a name.”

 

They reached a buttress in the middle of the walkway and Daine stopped, knowing that the veranda drew further away from the hall after that point. She leaned against the carved stonework and folded her arms. The gesture was utterly unlike anything the ladylike Annette would do, but she needed its stubborn strength just as surely as she knew that the façade had been shattered. 

 

“I have a name.” she said quietly but forcefully, “I won’t waste it on people like you, but it is just as important to me as your name is to you. You have no right to say things like that to me.”

 

“Right? Of course I do, silly creature. I _own_ you.” He tucked his hands into his pockets nonchalantly, even whistling a happy tune as she looked at him incredulously. His grin widened at her expression and he slapped his hand on one velvet-covered knee. 

 

“I knew it was you. Of course I did! The others might not be able to see past a layer of dirt, but I can. As soon as I saw you in that tailor’s shop I recognised you. After that your act was… hmm, a little more convincing, perhaps. We can give the others some credit, I suppose. But I imagine that was all that traitor-bitch Hazelle’s doing, wasn’t it? I asked the tailor this morning and he said he’d never seen you before that day. And I knew you were the wolfling from the moment I saw you.”

 

“Liar.” Daine folded her arms, “You would have turned me in, straight away.” 

 

“For what?” He laughed at her confusion, and made an odd gesture with one hand. Intricate lace fluttered in the breeze. 

 

“The child we found in Snowsdale was executed the very next day. We couldn’t let her live. The townsfolk came in a mob, screaming for her blood. The werewolf died on that day, so how could she escape from our prison years later? No, only one prisoner escaped. Only one prisoner was strong enough to break our defences and he’s the one the guards are still searching for. You, my sweet little changeling, don’t exist. You were erased like chalk before we even put you in chains. No-one even remembers your name.” 

 

Daine reeled and had to rest a hand against the wall, feeling the icy stone graze her palm. It was as if she had been handed freedom and her old chains at the same time, and her mind spun. 

 

“But... then why are you talking to me?” She babbled. The man frowned. 

 

“I wasn’t sure of what I saw. I watched you, with... with _him_. The others believe you’re some rough-hewn country noble folk, come to visit... but I was sure. I watched you. I watched him. There were a few weeks when I questioned myself, when he ran after Orsille’s girl, but the Lady Hazelle got rid of her quickly enough. And now I’m sure, and I’ve convinced the others, too. They say it’s time. I want to make a deal with you.” 

 

“A deal?” She pressed frozen fingers to her forehead, and then looked up. “You... why?” 

 

“Why? Why not just kill you, you mean? Well, it’s simple: the Hawk Mage is in love with you. He won’t raise a hand against you. No matter what you do that criminal will do anything to protect you. I can see it. The way he looks at you? It would be so touching if you weren’t a pair of murderers.” His voice had degraded into a sneer, and Daine looked up with sudden fury. 

 

“And you?” She hissed, “Should I tell you what _you_ are?” 

 

He coloured but ignored her question. His voice took on a colder edge as if he were pointing out the obvious to an ignorant child. “ _He won’t kill you._ He won’t _attack_ you. He might be able to make the keep burst into flames with a wave of his hand, but he won’t if you’re inside it.” 

 

“You can’t make me go back.” She whispered, seeing his plan with a flash of lucid horror. “You said... I don’t exist. And I can’t... I won’t...” she swallowed to stop herself feeling sick, and then said more fiercely: “He’d tear down the walls to find me.”

 

“Not if he thinks you’re chained to them.” Parsey smiled greasily and leaned forward. “I’m going to give you a choice, _little one_.” The words were barbed, and he smiled when she flinched. 

 

His words became honeyed. “You can choose to come back. If you do that I’ll call off the search. When the snows melt he can leave the valley safely. Or... you run away from me now, and within an hour every person in this valley will know that your lovely Leto is the noble mask of the murderous hawk mage. He’ll be hunted down like a dog. Like a _wolf_.” 

 

Daine stared at her feet, feeling the warm shoes holding them with sudden sharp awareness. His words washed over her like water but she felt the threat in them as keenly as the edge of a blade. She felt like a fraud – she felt like their prisoner again. Just like that, she had transformed back into the slave. She had flown away from her cage for a few short months, and they were here to remind her of who she really was. Her feet should be cold, not warm. 

 

Either she would live out her life as a slave, or they would both die. She should agree meekly; Parsey would expect nothing less. But when she raised her tearstained face he darted forward and snapped something around her wrist. 

 

She looked down. It was a chain. It was made of shining new gold and littered with so many charms that it was heavy. She felt its magic roar through her veins like fire, but this time it didn’t burn her.

 

For a breathless second her magic felt taut, like a drawn bowstring. Then, with a sharpness that made her cry out and press a hand to her chest, she felt something inside her snap. 

 

In a shimmer of shards, the wall that had kept her wolf at bay cracked. Singing into the night, the cord that linked her heart to Numair’s shuddered and screamed. It twisted with vicious cruelty, and she knew that a few rooms away the hawk was tearing at its own cage with delighted, sadistic strength. She fell to her knees and cried out. 

 

This time, the wolf roared back.

 

This time the feral glory of it fuelled her fury. Her eyes blazed as she dragged herself upright and glared at the human in front of her. Her words were anything but meek. They were a curse, ripped from the depths of her heart and thrown at him with every word tolling the grim future. 

 

“You stupid, _stupid_ man. You don’t understand. You don’t understand _anything_. You’re signing your own execution order. You think you can use me as a shield? He will tear down every stone you build around me, and rip through every soldier’s throat you set to guard me. And _you_?” 

 

She took a step closer, manic laughter running through her voice when he took an instinctive step back. “You, we will save until last. You will _suffer_. You think you’re playing with two lives but you have unleashed four. Without each other we are wild and feral and _free_. We will dance in your blood. The hawk and the wolf will tear the skin from your bones and we will laugh at every scream we rip from your throat.”

 

“Stay back,” he whispered as she kept walking forward, his hand fumbling at his belt. He raised a dagger in shaking hands, holding it up as she came towards him.   
Daine kept walking until she could feel the soft warmth of blood trickling down between her breasts and staining her beautiful dress. She felt no pain, only the screaming howl of the magic that was tearing through her skin and the wolf which was howling in agony in her mind. 

 

Parsey’s voice shook and his words were drenched in naked fear. “I’ll _kill_ you.”

 

She did laugh then, a high-pitched mania which was torn from her throat so unconsciously that it hurt. “You wouldn’t dare, you coward.” 

 

“Stay back!” His voice got higher pitched, and beads of greasy sweat rolled down his face to stain his collar. Behind him, dark shadows peeled away from the trees and turned into figures – guards in livery, their faces set and grim as they ran forward. Their hands were stained with blood, and in the snow behind them Hazelle’s guards rattled out their final breaths.

 

There was no-one left to help her. No-one else knew. 

 

The guards wrenched her hands away from Parsey’s throat and dragged them behind her back. Daine laughed at them. Laughed at them all. Laughed until the fire finally burned her, and the world dissolved into the black choking smoke of unconsciousness.

 

888

 

“They’ve made their move.” Hazelle said, her voice almost inaudible. “This is the second time they’ve attacked my home. They’re breaking the law. I’m a citizen of Tortall; Jonathan is perfectly in the right if his army intervenes at my request.” 

 

“It’s an act of war.” Alanna agreed, “Against a Tortallan. We have enough information now to strike at them, and we’d be in the right. It’s started. I’ll send a message to the soldiers to mobilise. They should be at the pass first thing in the morning.” 

 

“I can’t believe you’re talking so calmly!” Numair looked up incredulously from the corner he’d sunk into. They had found him there, clutching his chest against a rending pain which had told him more clearly than Hazelle’s tearful words what had happened. His cheeks were flushed with pain and absolute fury, “They kidnapped Daine! We… we have to get her back! We have to…”

 

“To what? Storm the keep?” Alanna’s voice was harsh. “Perhaps we should raze their farms to the ground while we’re at it! After all, we’re so strong! Mithros’ shield, what do you honestly think three people could do, Numair? We have to wait!” 

 

She paced the room, running her own hands through her hair as she thought. For all her logical words she was furious too, blaming herself for allowing Daine to talk with the officials on her own. After weeks of nothing the devils had lured them into a false sense of security, and their move had been as clever as it was vicious. 

 

“She’s a hostage, Numair.” Hazelle’s voice was soft, if bitter, as she tried to talk some sense into the man. “The only reason they have her is because they know we’ll want her back. In all the time they spent with us, the one thing they would have been convinced of is the fact that we all care for her. They’ll have seen the clothes and known I bought them. Alanna spoke to her like she was one of her daughters… don’t argue, Lioness. And…” she hesitated, and then finished, “Well, no-one could misunderstand the way that she looked at you, Numair, nor the way you looked at her.”

 

“Don’t make this into our fault.” Numair twisted his fist into his stomach to fight the pain, and looked up with gritted teeth. “If we hate ourselves for loving our friends then we might as well be monsters.”

 

“But that’s exactly what they _want_.” Hazelle tried to explain to the man, waving her wrinkled hands in the air in mute explanation. “They want you to condemn yourself. Why kidnap a little girl when she doesn’t even want to fight? As a warrior she’s valueless, but as leverage over the hawk mage…” 

 

“So. A hostage.” Alanna sounded disgusted, “Is there nothing they won’t sink to?”

 

“Nothing.” Numair had whitened at Hazellle’s guess knowing the cunning old woman was exactly right. He curled his hands into fists, not caring that his nails bit into his palms. “There’s nothing they won’t do. While we’re sitting here talking, they could be…” 

 

The man stopped himself from finishing the sentence with an effort, looking sickened. Hazelle moved stiffly across the room to rest her hand on his shoulder. 

 

“My dear,” she said as he struggled with the words. “Don’t let yourself dwell on it. It won’t help her, and you’re torturing yourself enough. They won’t risk hurting a hostage.” 

 

“Hazelle,” he looked up and pleaded in a broken whisper, “I promised her I would keep her safe. I can’t just sit here waiting for the soldiers to break through the pass. I _can’t_. I’m not dwelling on what they’re doing to her. I know what they’re doing. I’ve seen it. 

 

“When we were locked up together those men tortured Daine in front of my eyes and they _laughed_. She hadn’t done anything to provoke them. They just liked to hurt her. They wanted to prove that they were stronger than me, and she just happened to be there. But now? Daine killed an official, ran away, exposed their plans and hid right in front of their eyes for months. She helped me to escape. We’ve embarrassed the officials. They’ll be furious. And they’re going to make her suffer for it.”

 

He stared at the whitened knuckles of his hands as his voice became hollow, darkened with simple truth. “Daine’s not just a hostage; this is their revenge against her, and against all of us. I’m not torturing myself: I’m just telling you the truth. The longer we wait, the more they’ll hurt her. She’s strong, and she’s clever, and she will _fight_. But in the end they’ll find a way to break her.” 

 

He drew a deep breath and looked at the blood trickling from his palms. His voice grew quiet, but he forced the last words out through gritted teeth. “They will break her. And then they’ll laugh.” 

 

“We _have_ to wait.” Alanna said, and her voice was heavy. “I pray you’re wrong, but even if that’s true, Numair, you have to accept that there’s nothing we can do.”

 

“No.” He stood up and shook his head. “No, I won’t accept that. It’s not true. There may be nothing you can do – you have to answer to Jonathan, and order the soldiers. And Hazelle, you have to watch the valley. There’s nothing else you can do. I can accept that.” 

 

He drew a deep breath and looked out of the window, where the first rain of spring was just starting to fall. “But I… who do I answer to? I’ve been dead to you for six years.” He ran a finger down the fogged glass of the window, watching the distant shadows of the trees, and a strange half smile played about his mouth. 

 

“I’m the Hawk Mage. I haunted these mountains for five years. There’s plenty that _I_ can do.”

 

888

 

End of Part 3


	34. Infidelity 1

The snows melted and the passes began to clear. 

The birds began to sing to each other, but that was the only sound the new dawns brought. Weeks after they had stolen the girl away the officials were still silent. No ransom note or plea for parlay was sent to Hazelle’s strongly-guarded house. It was as if nothing had happened. It was as if the girl called Daine had simply vanished with the melting snow. 

It was as if the house was colder, somehow, despite the warmer days. The maids shivered and looked at each other across the stone kitchen, wondering why one girl’s presence had made such a difference. Alanna would have scoffed at their superstitions if she had a moment to listen to them, but she was so taken up with pouring over maps of the valley and dispatching messages to her different troops that she would have passed a ghoul without a second glance. 

Numair would have shrugged and dismissed the gossip with a wave of his hand, but he knew exactly why the house was colder. He was the one whose window was left open every night. The open shutter let cool air pour into his room, making the fire spit and stutter, but he didn’t care. The cold hardly mattered. What was important was what the window let out of his room.   
Every night, stepping on silent feet, the man slipped from the window. Wings burst from his shoulders before he hit the ground, and he scoured the valley with keen black eyes. 

For the first few nights it was enough to search. Hope kept him sane – the absolute conviction that soon he would glimpse Daine in the window of one of the forts, or that her kidnappers were still dragging her along one of the roads towards the prison. The hawk shrieked in his mind but for once he could ignore it, so fixed was he on his goal. 

Then, on the third night, his hope began to fail him. It was not enough anymore. Three days was far too long for any men to travel along the roads, and even when he scried the keeps he could find no sign of her. The chains hundreds of slaves wore about their wrists twisted and confused his gift, and he could not focus. 

The hawk laughed at him. It let him take wing for a few more days, and he could feel its dark amusement at his growing despair. He gritted his teeth and cursed at it: _I’d like to see you find her!_

The hawk had no words, so it didn’t reply, but he felt its thoughts. They were sweet like cloying syrup behind his eyes. _There is more we can do. This is pathetic. What kind of weak creature are you? Are you so easily beaten?_

He could ignore it for the first few nights, but a few nights later he found himself circling aimlessly above a tidy-looking tower, eyes fixed on the one window that glowed with candlelight. He could smell her. He could taste the subtle sweetness of her scent in that room, but he knew that she wasn’t there. His eyes had told him that. There was just a man – old, nearly decrepid, with a soft-toothed sneer which was mostly gap and gum. His hands shook as he undressed himself in front of the fire, and every robe which he peeled off gave that same maddening perfume. 

_He’s had her._ Numair thought, and fought the urge to be sick. _The smell of her… it’s on his skin._

 _Go on, then!_ The bird mocked him. Numair shivered and beat his heavy wings against the winter wind. 

_It won’t help her._ He thought, and wondered if he was truly arguing with the hawk or with his own rage. 

_That official has been closer to her than you ever will be again._ The hawk jeered, and the hackles on the back of their neck rose. Numair swallowed, pushed the thought away, banked sharply against a thermal. 

_I only have a little time before I lose control of my magic. I… I can’t attack old men. They’re not the ones in charge. I have to find out who’s keeping her captive, not just who’s been… been around her. She needs help, not revenge, right now._

_If you want to help her then kill them all._ The hawk cooed, and its voice was silkily seductive. 

Numair hesitated. The hawk’s thought made liquid glee rise in his throat. Still, he couldn't surrender. Not yet. Soft grey eyes stopped him, looking at him pleadingly inside his mind. He remembered her voice, the way it had caught on her whispered words: _It won't happen again, will it Numair?_

_I… She said we couldn’t be murderers any more. We have to be better than them. I have to be better… don’t I? Or she’ll never forgive me…_

_Or she’ll be dead._ The hawk felt like it was shrugging inside his mind, and the man wanted to throttle it. The thought was too immediately painful for him to shove away, though, and he found himself turning back towards the tower with grim intent. 

The window was closed, but it was only pathetic wood and glass. Nothing he couldn’t smash through, hardly feeling it lacerating his arms and shoulders as he crashed into the floor. The man’s screams were only sound, after all. His thrashing fists were nothing at all. 

_Yes. Yes. Kill them all!_ The hawk shrilled gleefully, and Numair’s mind went dark. 

When he came to he was alone, and the world was still and frozen around him. He was lying on a riverbank, one foot trailing into the muddy water. He coughed and wondered if he’d had to swim to shore, but his lungs were clear and his clothes were dry. The odd film that covered him was not drying water but drying blood. His stomach rebelled at the sight and the tart smell of it, and he vomited painfully against the bank. 

His stomach was hurt, he realised, and found a large bruise that covered one rib. Broken, he thought, and traced the shape of the bruise. It was square, as if he’d been hit by a coal shovel. 

Not that he could remember anything. He rubbed between his eyes and wished his head would stop pounding. 

It was nearly dawn. The early mist was just starting to rise, and the man struggled to his feet. There was nothing he could do about the mud or the blood, he knew, but he could still sneak back into his own bed before anyone realised he was gone. 

Hazelle was waiting for him, arms folded as she sat beside the fireplace. A large blaze roared beside her, and she looked as if she’d been waiting for a long time. She took in his grotesque appearance without a word, and then threw another piece of wood into the overheated fire. 

“Must you do this?” She asked finally, watching the man as he tried to stay away from the scorching blaze. He thought intensely for a moment and then nodded his head. Although he couldn’t remember what had happened after he had flown into the tower, he knew the hawk’s moods well enough to guess the rest. The official had got what he deserved. He saw little downside to that, no matter how sadistically the hawk had behaved. 

“Then you choose it.” She persisted. He looked confused, and so she scowled at him. “You choose to become the hawk, and then you choose to become a man again.” 

“Yes,” he croaked, and sat down on the bed wearily. She bit her lip. 

“So now you choose to be a killer.” She finished. His eyes widened, and he shook his head. 

“I don’t remember killing…” 

“But you knew what would happen. You chose to let it happen. Whether or not you can remember spilling that blood is irrelevant.” She snarled, and kicked at the hearth rug. “I don’t want a killer in my home. I could live with a madman or a penitent, but not with a murderer. You need to leave.” 

“I’m doing it for Daine!” He snapped back, but he already knew he would lose this fight. 

“I know.” She said. “And that is why I’m only telling you to leave. I wouldn’t dream of telling you to _stop._ ” 

888

Ten miles from the Gallan border, hidden in the lee of a rocky outcrop, a group of knights huddled around a fire and complained about the thick drops of water which always seemed to strike the back of their necks. Despite their words they were pleased, and glanced far more often than they usually did towards the mountains which, because of the snows, had been impassable. A thrill of excitement ran through the air, and they started discussing sending patrols into the mountains. Each of the ten gathered men commanded twenty highly trained soldiers, and each of the men knew that they were getting irritable from boredom. So were the knights, come to think of it. 

Now that they didn’t have to go through the border keeps to enter the valley, all the men in the army were keen to see what was going on. They had heard rumours of everything to feral wild-men, to a hidden army. The speaking spell which the lady knight had left with them had given their captain more information, but he was a surly and secretive man, and had told them that they simply had to wait. 

Today, he returned to the fire with an odd expression on his face, and sat down heavily. The knights knew better than try to ask him any questions, and after a few cups of cider he belched loudly and said, in a dreary monotone, “Be ready. They’ll be here tonight. There’ll be the hag to pay if you’re caught slacking off from your posts.”

“Who?” One of the louder men asked. The captain scowled at him. 

“The Lioness, of course! And that’n she came here to help.” He couldn’t help a glimmer of interest in his own voice, then. They were all curious about what kind of person would make the king’s champion willingly travel in the middle of a winter snowstorm. They hoped he was worth all the cursing she’d directed at them as they travelled together, and the outright swearing when they’d dug in to their cosy winter camp. She’d had to travel through the pass alone. That had been months ago, and they now knew the plain like the backs of their hands- but the mountains were still a mystery to them. 

Alanna and the man arrived near sunset, and the soldiers heard their arguing voices long before they saw them. They had cast a spell on themselves, surrounding themselves in a haze which confused the eye enough from a distance to make them invisible. Their voices were clear, though, even if the words were similarly blurred. 

As soon as they made it into the camp, the knight headed for the fire, and ignored the other knights entirely until she was warmed up. She looked like she was standing behind a waterfall. Then she snapped her fingers and the newcomers were suddenly clear and visible: two people who were travel-worn from crossing over the mountains, frozen and tired, but arguing heatedly. 

“I’m not saying I’m planning to go off on a mad killing spree.” The man lied, running his hand through his hair as if he had repeated this frustrating sentence many times. “I don’t want that. At the moment I can still come back. I can control my magic and I want to help. But sooner or later, Alanna, the Hawk is going to take over. And when it does I’ll be more powerful and more dangerous than… than any army the officials can gather, for a start. So I’m saying we can use that! If we make sure I’m in the right place…”

“You’re not a tinder box, Numair,” The woman’s voice was icy. “I refuse to simply find a place to prop you up until the sparks make you explode into flames.”

“Then I’ll prop myself up,” he said impatiently. “It’s my choice. I just thought you’d be thinking like a tactician about this, and could use it to our advantage. I can’t think like that. But if you can’t either, then I’ll just go alone and…”

“Um, welcome?” The captain managed, completely nonplussed. Alanna nodded at him en route to turning a glare on her companion. 

“What do you mean, I can’t think like a tactician?” She demanded. “If anyone’s not thinking clearly, it’s…” 

“Shut up, both of you!” The captain roared, and even he looked taken aback by the outburst. Alanna and Numair stared at him, wide-eyed, and he softened his voice. “Sir Alanna, it’s my honour to welcome you back to our camp, but judging from your harsh words to one another you’re clearly exhausted from your journey. We have prepared a tent for you, and one for Master Salmalin, and I’d be grateful if you would both remain there until you’ve had a good meal and some sleep. All this arguing, sir, will wreck havoc on my soldiers’ morale. You know how impressionable the troops are, sir.” 

Alanna took a deep breath, and the captain looked almost ready to defend himself from an outburst. Then she let it go and trudged off after a page, clapping the captain on his shoulder in grateful apology as she passed. Numair tugged his nose awkwardly and looked at the fire. 

“I need to talk to a scout before I sleep.” He said, his voice quiet. “The best one you have. It’s important.” 

“Important enough that we shouldn’t even take the time to tell our Champion?” The captain’s voice was dry, and he shrugged when Numair looked at him. “If you like. You’ll have to wait, though. The scouts are camped over that rise.”

The mage shrugged and stared at the fire, hands folded into his cloak against the wind as he waited. The watching knights didn’t quite dare to approach him. They would never admit to listening in on a conversation, but one that was shouted in an angry voice by the Lioness was definitely worth hearing. If the man was going to go on a mad killing spree, and Alanna was taking it seriously, they reasoned, then they didn’t really want to get too near him. 

The scout arrived – a surly, rugged man whose stocky legs never seemed to tire – and the knights may have (purely by coincidence, you understand) leaned closer to hear their words. 

“Did you find the caves, yet?” Numair asked, his voice blunt. The scout raised a bushy eyebrow and pointed at a cliff, where the turrets of one of the keeps blended into the crags of the mountain. 

“If there are caves, they’ll be there,” he said. “Where the glacier swelled and melted o’er the years. But speakin’ of meltin’, we’ve not been too keen to go climbin’ with all the soft slidin’ snow on those peaks… sir. Why are you lookin’ for caves?”

“I’m not looking. I know where they are. I hid… er, lived there for a while.” Numair frowned and crouched down by the fire, drawing in the scattered ash. “I enquired if you’d found them. It’s an academic question. I don’t know how easy they are to find, you see. They said you were the best scout in the army, so if you haven’t found them, then they must be well hidden.”

“Is that important?” The man’s forehead furrowed into a series of lines. The other man nodded, biting his lip in concentration as he drew peaks to represent mountains, and stabbed his finger in savage crosses for the keeps. The caves were simple circles, a few miles away. 

“If you don’t know they’re there, then it’s a good bet that the officials don’t know, either. They might know there’s a possibility… like you did… but they won’t know for certain.”

The scout grinned and kneeled down to look at the hastily drawn map. “Seems like a well-concealed pass, alright! What are the caves like?”

“I can’t remember clearly.” Numair frowned, and he stood up straight with a groan as his tired legs ached. “I think they went quite far into the mountain, but not all the way through to the valley. That’s why I need you.”

“And with my keen wisdom, I can just bet that you’re goin’ to ask this old scout to do some scoutin’.” The man said drily. Numair looked at him sharply, and then laughed with the suddenness of someone who is not used to laughter being in their life. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to patronise you,” he grinned when the scout pulled a face and held a hand out. “I think this might work well. I’m Numair.”

“I’ve heard your name in stories, my friend,” the scout looped one hand in his belt, and scrubbed the other one off on his tunic before shaking the mage’s hand. “I wondered if you’d be callin’ yourself the Black Mage, or this Hawk thing, or, since you’re bein’ an educated man, Sir-what-d’ye-call-it-with-bells-on. So I’m relieved to hear you’ve got a real name, even if it is a flowery one and no mistake.” 

“I guess you don’t, since you haven’t told me yours,” Numair retorted, unable to stop himself from smiling. The scout nodded and stuck his hands back into grubby pockets. 

“I’m Rain. Family were mountain folk. For eight months of ten, all you could see out the window would be Snow and Rain, and Snow’s a girl’s name.” 

“Rain.” The other man’s voice was flat, but his eyes were amused. “Good. Tomorrow morning, first light, we’ll head out.”  
Rain blinked, and for the first time his cocky grin faded in surprise. “You’re comin’ too, Flowers?” 

“Of course!” Numair clapped the man on the shoulder, and felt the first shred of belief that he might be able to actually do something useful. He had been in a furious, dark mood since he and Alanna had set out from Hazelle’s home weeks before. 

Alanna had insisted that he leave the valley altogether, even threatening to chain him up and drag him behind her if he decided to stay and, as she put it, ‘scare the farmers away from their milking instead of doing something that might have a damn result’. Grudgingly, he’d agreed to join the slowly growing army. He’d realised the breathtaking potential of being on the other side of the mountains when he’d realised where the Tortallans had camped, but he hadn’t shared his plan with the increasingly irritable knight. He knew she would try to stop him. He planned in silence, and the two weeks of crossing the mountains had been the longest of his life, he was sure of it. But now that he could actually do something, and had a plan, the world seemed a little brighter. 

“I have to come. I sealed the caves when I left them, you see.” He said, “So without me, you’ll never even see them. And besides…” he glanced at the camp. “I’ll need to avoid Alanna when she finds out I’m up to something.”

“Then the first thing we need to do is find a snowdrift.” Rain said, and glanced at the fire. “I hear she likes the warm.”


	35. Infidelity 2

Rain ran a hand along the wall slowly, his croaking voice unusually silenced. The stone seemed to warm under his hand, reflecting the colour of his palm and turning the green and grey stone soft browns and pink. Of course, it was all an illusion: the stone had been worn smooth as a mirror by the icy waters as they melted away, and even now melt-water had frozen in tiny, glittering lines all over the walls, floor and even ceiling. The tunnels were smooth, and echoed the sound of running water and birdsong into a wash of bright, hollow sound.

"It's beautiful," the scout breathed. Numair glanced back at him, and then looked around the cave indifferently.

"Yes," he said, "I suppose it is. Cold, though."

The man remembered the time he had spent here, and shivered at the memory. It had been a haven of strong walls, where he could hear anyone approaching by their softest footstep, and where the light never dimmed. He had found it when he had started to regain his mind, and had discovered the caves quite by accident, stumbling blindly on clawed feet after a scrawny rabbit.

The rabbit had escaped, but he had come face to face with another animal. It had stood before him suddenly, almost silent as it staggered on deformed feet. Black, straggling hair hung in greasy locks over its pointed face. It had stared at him with hollow black eyes and screamed. The tattered remains of a cloak tangled in the creature's wings as it raised them, and the hawk mage had felt his own struggle with the cursed human clothes that still trapped him when he raised his hands to defend himself. Then his ragged claws had scraped across the frozen stone, and he had realised he was fighting his own reflection.

The shock of seeing himself – of actually seeing what the creature looked like – had forced frantic tears of laughter from his eyes, and he shook with mirth until the feathers fell away, and he was human again.

Then what? He looked like a man, but he had no mind, and no memory. He crept into the nurturing womb of the mountain and slept, drawing the rags over his skin as he shivered from both nightmares and the cold. If he woke up and forgot his shape, he looked into the eyes of the human in his reflection, and he remembered that, at least.

Numair had told Daine that his memory had simply returned, but it was not true. His memory had been carved from these caves, etched into the stones as he ran his hands over every inch of his reflection. He studied his broken nails and chapped fingers, the dirt that coated his skin and the streaks of lighter colour in his filthy black hair. When he realised that he was simply looking at dirt, not skin or flesh, he crept outside and washed himself in the icy melt-water of a stream. His hands felt clumsy and stilted, but the ice cold water ran through them in a comforting stream, and for a few moments his panicked ignorance faded, and he felt peaceful. He returned and forced himself to remember everything when he saw it. Every scar, and every freckle. He remembered himself as a picture. In the weeks that followed, even when he couldn't remember his name, he could at least remember his shape.

One morning he was pulling his hair back from his face, making sure that the birdlike features hadn't returned when he had drowned in dizzy dreams. His hands automatically twisted the overgrown locks into a horsetail, and for a split second he recognised the man who he saw in front of him, and knew that he had a name. He froze, and the hair fell back around his face, and the memory faded. But now he knew that it was there. The next day, he deliberately tied his hair back with a scrap of rag. He looked at the man in the mirrored wall, and forced himself to say the name out loud. It meant nothing to him; he couldn't claim it as his own, but he knew that the man he could see was called Numair.

After that, the memories returned. Some came in a fleeting rush, some in a slow trickle. He couldn't quite place them even when he'd recalled them. He remembered his name being spoken in other voices, and then he put faces to those sounds. He remembered being summoned, and he remembered where he had been when he heard his name being shouted. He built his life around his name, reciting every word to his reflection and watching it become a person.

After another month, when winter had almost drawn in, the guilt returned. Now Numair knew who he was, and he also knew what had happened to him. It was in these caves that he had made his decision to surrender to the townsfolk.

This was the part of his story that he had told to Daine. It was an easy decision, and he left the caves without looking back. He climbed the mountain trails, reasoning that the snow might kill him as effectively as the soldiers. When he reached the first town in the valley he was exhausted, and sick, and peacefully ready to die.

Now, months later with the chorus of spring burning in his ears, he had returned to the caves, and every footstep he took felt familiar. He had to wonder if it had all been worth it. Any good he thought he was doing seemed to have backfired horribly.

When he'd told Alanna that he was prepared to be the hawk mage again, he wasn't just being dramatic. Alanna had asked him what three people could do against an army, and in a cold shock Numair had realised that he was weak. It hadn't bothered him before, but now he realised that if he had his magic under control, he could probably rescue Daine in a few hours, using concealment and destruction spells. He felt suddenly useless, and even though he knew deep down that the soldiers would be just as effective as he would have been, he also understood the delicate political situation that meant that the officials and the knights would be dancing around each other for weeks, or even months. They were all unable to do anything to help Daine except wait for the tide to turn.

The hawk mage, Numair told himself bitterly, wouldn't wait. He looked at his reflection, and this time it showed him a man who longed to see the bird-like creature staring back. Yes, the hawk mage would not be weak. He would have his power, and he would have no desire to wait. The problem, though, was that he would also have no real aim. The hawk just liked to hunt, and wouldn't care if the bodies it tore through were Gallan, Tortallan, foe or friend.

Numair had come to the caves hoping for some kind of tether, or something that would help him remember why the hawk had let him reclaim his own self in this place. Something that would help him understand the hawk, and maybe... maybe... find some way to focus its power so that it would only hurt the people who deserved it. Staring at his reflection, seeing his own black eyes staring back mockingly at the man called Numair, he realised that it would never happen.

He shook himself and turned away, leading Rain deeper into the cave. The other reason he'd decided to come back here was far more interesting. They walked miles further into the labyrinth of tunnels than he had ever been before, and the light turned from the grey-blue into a strange watery green. Numair looked up and rested one thin hand against the curved ceiling of the cave.

"What do you think is above us?" He asked the scout, his voice quiet so it wouldn't echo. Rain looked up, frowning.

"More caves, I reckon. How far back does this one go? They might link up with..."

"Yes – more caves. That's what I thought, too. Do you..." Numair stopped speaking with his brow crinkling as he tilted one ear up. "Do you hear that?"

Rain listened, and then said uncertainly, "It sounds like the wind."

"The wind doesn't literally howl." Numair ran his hand along the ceiling again, glancing back along the tunnel towards the cave opening again. The sound was unsettling. "Does it?"

Rain squatted down on the cave floor and pulled out a piece of bread. "What were you thinkin' about this place?"

Numair shook himself off and accepted a chunk of the bread. "This cave has to lead under the keep." He said. "That place is built right into the rock. It goes on and on – Daine said there were dungeons, and a pit, and... and torture cells, and even she hadn't seen everything. They'd've had to cut into the stone to build it all, but I don't think they would. Why spend all that effort when you can just find a cave network, and build into it?"

"Clever." It wasn't clear if the munching Rain was talking about the builders or the idea, and he shrugged. "If there was a way out here, mind, they would seal it off. It is a castle, after all. You know, castles? Those big stone-y things, built for defence?"

The mage ignored the sarcasm. "It was built for that a long time ago, true, but now it's... just a prison, really. As long as the prisoners can't get out, why would they care who gets in?"

"You said you lived here." Rain said through a mouthful, "Didn't you explore?"

"No." The answer was curt, and Numair turned away to hide the expression on his face. Although it had taken them a day to walk here, and another morning to climb the rise, he knew there was a difference between making friends with another person and trusting them enough to describe the kind of madness that makes you scream when you can't see the sky. He stood up and brushed off his knees, and then they heard the sound again.

It couldn't have been the wind. It was a moan, low and drawn out, echoing in the caves. It seemed to come from all around them, but they moved slowly towards a smooth wall which had cracked in some spring thaw, both feeling instinctively that in its dark depths, there must be something to create the sound. It might be a groaning glacier, perhaps, or a channel for the wind to shriek through. The hair rose on the back of their necks, but they kept moving forward into the icy cave, because nothing could possibly be as bad as not knowing what that sound was. It would turn into demons in their nightmares if they couldn't see its face.

The crack was not filled with melt-water. It was scored all the way through the rock to the darkness on the other side. They pressed their faces close to it, squinting to see through the darkness. Then the sound changed. Slowly, the low moans turned into a stilted giggle, and then a high pitched guffaw as a single, yellowed eye glared at them through the crack.

The noise came from a human throat. Once they had realised that it was human the sound was horrifying. The voice sobbed through the crack, and now they could hear it properly: a man's voice, broken by years of being unheard. It was not a sound that any person would voluntarily make. It was a sound born of broken, furious anguish, and it was laughing.

The maniac's laughter followed them like a curse as they dragged themselves away and ran. Both of them refused to look madness in its baleful eye.

888


	36. Infidelity 3

“Maybe we did imagine it.” 

Rain’s voice was cheerful as he strolled up to the fire, and Numair glanced up at him with a warning look. He knew exactly what the man was talking about. The thought made him grit his teeth. He didn’t know where Daine was and he didn’t know what the damned officials were planning, but he knew what Rain was talking about. After so many frustrating weeks where even the caves were sealed to him the mage’s temper was frayed enough that the fact that Rain was joking and relaxed barely registered with him. 

“Don’t you start with that conspiracy rubbish, too.” He snapped, stretching his legs out in front of the blaze. “I still see that damned eye in my nightmares. Don’t tell me I imagined it.” 

Rain frowned and absently picked up a piece of firewood, testing the grain with his broken nails. His voice grew more serious, and he ventured the question he’d been longing to ask for nearly a month. 

“Does it change your plans, any?” He laughed at the carefully blank expression on the mage’s face, and sat down cheerfully. “Ah, don’t give me the innocent look, Flowers. I know you have a plan. If I got close enough to your head I could hear every part of your brain workin’ overtime.”

“I’m going to discuss it with Alanna tomorrow morning.” Numair admitted, “So it’s not decided yet. But she told me to think of a plan, and this is the best I can come up with. We’re going to dig deeper into the caves, find some way through or just work out where they are in relation to the prison. We can’t be seen again, so we’ll have to work around that... man, or whatever that thing was.” He shuddered and threw a handful of grass onto the fire. “It will be slow work digging through that rock, even with magic. But if we can find a way to sneak in, or perhaps just start an explosion under their feet... well, that’s something for Alanna to decide. I don’t know if it will work, but... as far as Alanna knows... it will keep me busy until the reinforcements get here. It will _distract_ me.” 

Rain pulled a whittling knife from his belt and set about carving the stick, not looking up. “And as far as _I_ know?” 

Numair looked at him, and his voice was carefully flat when he said, “It’s the same answer as every night. If I’m not back by morning, you know the plan. I’m trusting you to relay it to Alanna, along with my sincere apologies.” 

“So sincere that you’re planning to be late? How polite.” The man scoffed, and spat into the fire absently. Numair stood up and brushed dust from his knees. 

“I’m not planning it. I hope to Mithros that I am back. But I can’t be sure. I never can.”

“And I can’t ask where you’re going.” Rain jibed, and then looked around in confusion. His words had fallen into the empty air; the other man had vanished. 

Several miles to the west, in a large and comfortable bed, another man muttered to an empty room. He had always had a habit of sleeping in his sleep, which he privately blamed for his lack of promotion in the ranks of the officials. As soon as some loudmouthed servant had spread gossip that the up-and-coming Squire Parsey might mutter secrets into the ear of his bed-mate... well, that was it. 

And now, decades later, Parsey snored and muttered in his sleep in heedless abandon. Most of the words made no sense, but the snoring was unpleasant enough that Lady Parsey insisted on sleeping in another room, and still complained over breakfast that she could hear her husband’s somnolent sinuses from across the hall. 

A cold breeze drifted across the room, and the slow-burning coals in the fireplace spat loudly. Parsey snorted and opened one eye, blearily peering across the room and pulling one of his three blankets further up his body to block the draft. He hated the cold, and the thick curtains and strong panes of his windows stopped any draughts from encroaching into his space. He groaned and buried his face in his pillow, wondering if the melting ice had made a crack in the pane. 

_I have all the bad luck._ He thought bitterly, tucking his feet up more securely under the quilted blanket. _I’ll catch cold by morning, I just know it._

Something moved, and someone drew a breath. Parsey raised his head in sleepy confusion, staring around the room with foggy eyes. There was nothing – the shadows were stained dark red by the embers of the fire, and the cold draught made an odd sighing sound every time the wind changed, but there was nothing else in the room. He gasped and clutched the blanket to himself defensively, then laughed shortly when the curtain swung back into place. 

“Well at least I know what window’s broken,” he muttered thickly, and burrowed back into the blankets. 

His eyes were just sliding shut when icy, skeletal fingers wrapped themselves around his face. The hand pushed down roughly, smothering his petrified cries and cutting off his air. 

_“Hush.”_ The whisper was harsh, merciless. “You _really_ don’t want to make a sound, my Lord Parsey. It would be the last thing you ever do.” 

Parsey’s eyes opened so wide the reds glowed around the whites, and his nose and eyes dripped as he tried not to sob. The voice sounded human, but the hand was surely a demon’s! Horribly sharp claws cut into one cheek like talons, and the skin felt scaly and icy cold. He shut his eyes for a moment and then, with a huge effort, nodded his head. 

“Well, it seems you _are_ capable of intelligent thought.” The voice had lost none of its merciless cruelty as the hand moved away. “Do you know who I am?”

Parsey shook his head, and saw the flash of teeth in the darkness as the man grinned. “Well then, let’s try again. Why do you think I’m here?” 

“Robber.” The official whispered hoarsely, and his eyes rolled as he gestured around the room. “Take... take...”

“I don’t want it.” The man interrupted, his voice flat. “I’m here for something else.” 

“Assassi...” this time Parsey’s voice faded because he couldn’t force himself to say the rest of the word. The intruder laughed quietly, a strange sound, and ran one talon down the man’s temple. 

“Closer. Perhaps I...” the talon pressed harder, and Parsey sobbed when he felt thin, warm blood trickle down his face. The man hissed between his teeth and drew back, raising his claws to his head. “No, no, I’m not here for that either. _Stop it.”_

“Stop what?” Parsey whispered, but the man ignored him. “Oh, sir, please don’t hurt me. I don’t... I never hurt you...” 

“You? You wouldn’t dare hurt anyone unless they were chained up and defenceless.” The man’s voice was suddenly harsher, contemptuous in its sharpness, and in a flash the official recognised him. An icy feeling of horror made him freeze as he looked at the silhouette of the man he had known as a polite, charming nobleman. In the firelight, the man’s eyes were too thin, narrowed to slivers, and they glowed a sick red. 

“Hawk... Mage...” he croaked, swallowing bile in his terror. The silhouette’s gleaming teeth widened in a sick grin, and he raised his clawed hands to the light. 

“Yessss...” he hissed, leaning closer. _“Hawk Mage.”_

“You can’t hurt me! You can’t! I took her so you couldn’t!”

The grin disappeared in an instant, and blazing eyes roared so close to Parsey’s own that he felt like he was falling. The hawk’s voice filled with violent emotion. It was the answer to a question which three weeks and tens of officials had failed to provide, although Parsey didn’t know that. He had only heard about their bloody deaths. Shock and disgust snarled from the hawk mage in three spittle-drenched words. 

_“You_ took her?” 

The official found himself babbling, making himself ridiculous in his gloating fear. “You can’t hurt me! I have her! She’s my protection!”

“Protection.” The mage smiled mockingly and his piercing gaze swept around the room. Was there desperation in his eyes? Hope? Parsey searched desperately for a glint of humanity, but the hawk only betrayed a kind of sardonic hatred. The gaze returned, and it held no pity. 

“Where is your protection now? I think you need it, my lord. So _where is she?”_

“They took her...” Parsey shut his eyes, shivering so violently he could feel his double chin shaking. “They t-took her from me. And told me to... to go home. They... they paid me and said I’d... I’d done it for th-them.”

“But you didn’t, did you?” The skeletal hand pressed against his throat, and Parsey choked as the man kept speaking in a low, accusing hiss. _“You took her._ You did it because you were frightened. You were _terrified_ that the murderous, bloodthirsty hawk mage would come after you. You had nightmares of the creature slipping through your window like a shadow... like a _demon_... and slitting your cowardly throat. So you just _had_ to kidnap a defenceless woman. Right?”

“I...” Parsey squeezed his eyes shut, and a tear dripped down his nose. 

The loathing in the Hawk Mage’s voice was clear, and the absolute black fury that burned in his eyes promised pain beyond all reckoning. He remembered the girl’s words then. She had held that same fire in her eyes, as if the whole world burned for her to dance in its flames. _We will dance in your blood. We will laugh at every scream we rip from your throat._

In the slave’s soft, drugged Gallan voice it had been unsettling enough; now Parsey recalled it with the dull tolling of absolute prophetic truth. Bile rose in his throat and he tasted vomit, trapped behind the crushed bulge of flesh that trembled and sweated greasily beneath the creature’s talons. 

“I d-don’t want to die.”

The hand let up for a moment, and the pointed mouth smiled again. There was death in that smile. 

“I can help.” 

The hawk took his hand away, raising it to his face thoughtfully for a moment, and then moved around the bed so quickly that Parsey could hardly see him moving. Both skeletal hands grabbed the official’s arm at the same time, claws cutting into the flesh above and below his elbow. The man squealed in surprise, then clapped his own hand over his mouth so suddenly it hurt. 

“You don’t want to die?” The hawk said rapidly, “Then answer my questions.”

“You’re not the only thing that kills people in this valley.” Parsey snivelled, finding some courage. “If the others found out I’d said anything, then...”

The hawk’s hands twisted, and the official’s neck corded in a silent scream as he felt his elbow snap out of joint. In the haze of pain, he could hear the cold, merciless voice of the intruder saying, “That wasn’t answering my questions.” 

“Q...questions.” Parsey agreed, gasping for air. 

Again, there was the sick smile, and then the man asked his questions, slowly and carefully, demanding all the details about how the wolf girl had been recaptured. The official twisted the truth as much as he dared, hoping that Orsille would forgive the small truths that slipped past... and that the Hawk would believe they were really treating the girl kindly. When the skeletal hands moved to his wrist, his heart sank. 

“Where is she now?” The hawk asked, and for the first time there was some emotion in his voice. Parsey turned his head to hide the fact that he was rolling his eyes. 

_They owe me more than just money. I was right about this man._ He thought, pride mixing with irritation in his terrified mind. _He’ll do anything for that girl._

“I don’t know. She could be in either keep, or in someone’s house...” He said, and looked the man straight in the demonic eyes for the first time. “You’re too late. I knew where she was. Then they took her.”

 _“Who_ took her?” The hands tightened around his wrist, and Parsey shook his head. 

“They pass her around. She could be anywhere. With _anyone.”_ He said the last with idiot bravado, and laughed in terrified shock at his own words. The hands twisted again, and his laughter dissolved into gasping whimpers of agony. When the darkness receded a little, the hands were gone from his arm, and for a shining second he thought the mage had disappeared into the night. Then he heard the words, spoken softly in a voice that held nothing but the cold promise of death.

“Did you touch her? Did you put your filthy hands on her?”

Parsey looked around, but he couldn’t see where the man had gone. All that was left was that poisonous voice, the voice that already knew the answer. 

“We _all_ did.” He said, without an ounce of shame or apology in his voice. He raised his chin for the first courageous moment in his life, and made his last confession with sick sadistic satisfaction that his words were causing the Hawk pain. “Every. Single. One.” 

The blackest shadows in the corners of the room screamed into an explosion of claws and wings and wrath. The bed slammed against the wall as the creature launched itself at its prey, and tore into the soft white flesh with unrestrained violence until the white walls were bathed in thick, dark blood. The last thing Parsey ever saw was the insane fury of the Hawk’s glaring red eyes.


	37. Infidelity 4

Numair gasped as his legs shook in sudden weariness. He fell heavily to the ground in a clatter of sliding scree. The first steps were always the worst and every night they seemed to grow more difficult. He pushed himself upright on arms that were still too thin for his weight and staggered to a rock ledge to sit down. He rested his head in his hands and forced himself to be still, to breathe evenly and feel every part of his body as it shuddered between hawk and human. 

He hadn’t been able to turn fully human in the official’s house. He hadn’t cared. It hadn’t seemed important to try, not when he would have to transform again to fly out of the window anyway. He told himself the same excuses he’d managed for every other man he’d killed over the past weeks:   
_  
I only meant to ask a few questions to find out where Daine was. I only meant to scare the man. He provoked me. _

Numair knew he was lying to himself. He might blame the hawk for the enraged bloodlust that still made his heart pound, but he’d be lying. The human part of his mind had revelled in revenge just as much as the feral creature. 

Especially now. After weeks of ignorance he’d found out what had happened to Daine and in the same racing heartbeat, he’d been told he was too late. Parsey had gloated but it wasn’t needed; the thought made him feel sick and dizzy. _My fault, my fault._

He couldn’t think himself back into a human. Not like this. Not when every memory of ripping the cowering human’s throat out made him grin and flex shining claws. He shivered and cradled his head wearily, horribly aware of the rising sun. They’d be missing him soon, and it was getting more difficult to sneak away as it was. He was sure Alanna suspected. 

Stilling his racing thoughts, he took a deep breath and held it, then breathed out slowly. He couldn’t quite remember how he was supposed to be. He flitted from thought to thought, and couldn’t catch the shadowy creature that was the human. 

The bronze shield that ringed his core was faded, dimmer than it had ever been before, but when he held out a hand to it the light coiled around his claws. 

_Help me,_ he whispered, and the fire blazed brighter for a moment. He remembered her then. She wasn’t a creature to be avenged, she was a... a person. 

He remembered a person. A girl. 

There was a memory of her looking up at him, eyes amused as she thought of an answer to some question. She bit her lip for a moment, the way she always did when she was trying to choose the right words, and he remembered her laughing softly at her own slowness. 

He slowly remembered that they had been walking, and his legs and feet shuddered into the right shapes now they knew they should walk that same way. He remembered that they had been wandering aimlessly in the garden, trying to find snowdrops in the melting snow and looking for the first unripe leaf buds on the brittle trees. Yes, and the snow felt dry underfoot and blew off the trees like sifted flour as they passed. The girl’s green cloak was lined in fur the same dark colour of her hair. The melting snow looked like shining gems that nestled almost indecently in the warm fabric. 

He remembered that. He remembered that he could barely take her eyes off her, this girl who made him dance in blood every night. She had disappeared and now her name made the Hawk shriek in outrage. She was the promise of violence, the lust for revenge that drove him, and she was not a person any more than he was now. But he remembered her as she was then. 

He remembered the feel of her hand in his, and felt his claws fading away. He knew he was not supposed to have claws. He could not hold a person’s hand with claws. What was next?

Words. The memory had words.   
_  
You always ask the strangest questions, she had said, shaking her head in wry defeat. Why would I care where we live?_

_I thought it was an easy question. He sighed and tweaked her nose. Come on, magelet, I refuse to believe you don’t have an opinion. Would you rather live in a house, or a castle, or the top of a tree?_

_Oh, a tree! She said quickly, and he remembered the slow smile that had crossed her face. His eyes shrank and warped into the almond-shapes they were supposed to be, because he remembered what the world was supposed to look like._

_He remembered her saying: It would be fair wonderful to have the birds around us, and the leaves rustling, and to see the sky wherever we looked..._

_Serves me right for asking you a sensible question. He muttered, and smiled despite himself. I would fall out of a tree._

_We could find a small tree. She waved a hand dismissively. And make sure there are lots of soft leaves at the bottom._

“How do you do it?” 

The voice broke him out of his trance with a yelp, and he raised pink, human hands to guard himself from the speaker. Breathing heavily, he recognised the shock of orange hair, and lowered his hands slowly. “Alanna. How long have you been there?” 

“You said you would lose yourself. I’ve watched you every night this week and you always bring yourself back in a few minutes.” She persisted, and raised an eyebrow. “So, how?” 

“I remember who I was when I was with Daine.” He muttered, made churlish by the idea that he’d been spied on, “Not that it’s your business.” 

Alanna uncurled her feet from under her and stood up, pulling a fur more tightly around her shoulders as she left the shelter of the boulder. 

“Well, it is my business.” She said, and gestured to his tunic. “Maybe not when you were just sneaking off in the mountains, but if you walk through my camp covered in blood there’s going to be some questions.” 

“Am I?” He looked down dully, and took in the state of his clothes. “Ah. It’s not mine.” 

“You don’t say!” Alanna’s voice was sarcastic, and she rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t be using shapeshifting magic if it was your blood. I doubt you’d be breathing. And I imagine that whoever’s blood it is isn’t breathing themselves right now.” 

“I tore his lungs out of his chest.” Numair said bluntly, “So, no. He isn’t.” 

“Lovely. You really are a charming man.” Alanna said, her voice sharp. “And do you still expect me to believe that you have this under control?” 

“No.” He laughed shortly and stood up. “I’m absolutely sure that I don’t. But I’m just as sure that I don’t care. Alanna, I’m so close to...” 

“...to losing yourself entirely?” Alanna interrupted, and caught his wrist. “Did you forget to shapeshift back, Master Salmalin, or is this something else you don’t care about?” 

He blinked and looked down, seeing the rash of feathers that patterned his left arm like a sailor’s tattoo. He flushed and tucked the hand behind his back, not wanting to look at it. “No, I... I...” 

“That’s what I thought.” She retorted, and turned away. “We spoke about this, Numair. We agreed that it was a bad idea. I thought you understood that, but clearly you were just humouring me. How many have you killed?” 

He thought back to the haze of nights, realising that he could barely remember their faces, just the rush of sick glee when each of them had said the words that released the hawk from its cage. 

“All of them. All the ones I spoke to. Some nights I didn’t... didn’t find one, so I just came back.” He looked again at his bloodstained clothes, and his voice grew darker. “This one deserved to suffer.” 

“Surely.” Alanna tugged at a lock of her hair in irritation and turned back to glare at him. “That scout of yours spoke to me after you left. We’re digging your tunnels, Numair. I’m not convinced it’s the best idea, but we’re doing it. But there’s a condition. If you want us to continue with your plan then you must stop this. It’s your choice. I know I can’t stop you. But...” she hesitated, and then said bluntly:

“But... every night, I’ve watched the bronze in your gift getting dimmer, and dimmer, and now it’s nearly gone. You know as well as I do what will happen when it disappears. I can’t risk that happening near my men. So, go away and get cleaned up. Think carefully. If you walk back into my camp then I’ll take that as your oath to follow my rules. If not, you will not be welcomed back into our ranks a second time. I will consider you a threat, and if you try to approach us we _will_ defend ourselves. Even if you look human.” 

“Alanna...” he whispered, but she had turned on her heel and was striding away, down the mountain. He let his breath out in a rush and sat down heavily. 

“You don’t understand!” He yelled petulantly after her, hearing his voice echo against the rocks. Whatever tart reply she shouted back, he couldn’t hear it among the echoes, and he let his breath out in a rush. 

_I would have lost my control eventually anyway,_ he thought, bitterly worrying at his gift like a sore tooth. _It’s not just using magic that weakens it. Sleeping, being in pain, being worried... or just letting time pass... they all make Daine’s magic drain away. I can’t sit around waiting for the war to start. It will be too late for both of us, by then._

He might have rested his head in his hands again, but for the black feathers which he knew lurked on his left hand, accusing and unyielding. As much as he tried to calm himself down, looking at his right hand and sternly telling the other hand that it should match, nothing happened. It was as if there was no magic at all. It was as if he had been born with the feathered hand, and could no more change it than he could the colour of his eyes. 

The hawk was taking payment for his nights of revenge. 

“Give me these months.” He whispered, and barely knew if the hawk could even hear his plea. “Just a few weeks of sanity, and then I’ll surrender. Let me finish this. Just a few months. You _know_ her, Hawk. She spoke to you. We can help her. Just a few months, and then you can have this body. Please.” 

A strange thrill ran through him and he shivered as if he were too cold. It grew to a buzzing warmth. The word echoed back at him, but whether it was from the rocks or the hawk, he couldn’t tell. 

_Months._ It said.

When he looked at his hand it was human, and only a single feather remained, tattooed into the flesh like a Banjiku’s oath mark.

_Months._

The deal was made.


	38. Demons Stray 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to all my readers! I hope your 2015 is filled with fun, fantastic fiction and frivolous fluff! 
> 
> (One of my resolutions is to read more on A03, so if you have a D/N fic that you'd like to recommend please send me a message with a link.) 
> 
> \-- Sivvus

Daine was terrified to open her eyes. 

She was horrified to feel the softness of cloth under her fingertips and the warm weight of blankets against her body. Her nightmares had been honest, too blunt to be anything but true, and this felt too much like another one of their disgusting games. She had forced open her drugged eyes so many times to see dingy hidden rooms, dark basements and bare and frozen stone cells, but never the comfort of a bed. This had to be a trick, and so it terrified her. 

The girl knew that this time she had been unconscious for a long time because the blow that had hurled her into darkness had been underscored by the mocking howl of a snowstorm. Now the birds had started to sing outside. It was a gentle sound, and her waking dreams had been coloured the soft green of spring. They weren’t always so pleasantly hued; while she drifted in and out of consciousness her dreaming flesh was bruised violet and green, and hot red blood trickled down her frozen white skin.   
Had she been asleep, though? She had heard the insults and the curses that were thrown at her as viciously as the booted feet which kicked her with every word. Even worse, she had heard her own voice rising shrilly from the darkness like some faceless ghast: fully conscious, forced to confront every agony which her dreaming shade fled from.

Split in two, she knew that the men had taken their sick pleasure with her body while her mind drifted in darkness. She knew that the voice they had torn from her soul had screamed and cried out in agony, but that she had never given them the pleasure of seeing her weep. She never shed a single tear. Disgusted at her drugged bovine idiocy, they had finally shaved her head and left her naked and bleeding on the icy stone floor, letting the cold bite her hands and feet until they were twisted and ached. 

Daine knew that they had done these things. Her stomach recoiled as more and more twisted faces leered at her, and she had to haul herself to the edge of the soft mattress to vomit bile onto the hearthstones. Her body felt unclean, so vile under her shaking fingers that she felt as if she should tear her own limbs away and hurl them into the fire. 

“Not again not again not again…” she whispered, scratching at her chained hands dizzily. The words were a desperate plea, a nonsense of sobbed fear. “No not again no no no please… please gods, gods, not this not here, please… please help me, help me…”

She forced her stomach to be still and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, willing herself to stop shaking. Cold dread felt heavy on her shoulders. It pressed her down like rough hands, and she tore her way frantically back under the thick blankets.

“Numair…” she whispered, muffling the final word with her own frozen hands. The word burned. The name of the one person who should have helped her. The one person who hadn’t. Who wasn’t here. Who hadn’t stopped them. 

A thousand new thoughts whirled in her mind and she screamed silently, twisted against the sheets. Was he hurt? Had they caught him? Had he tried to save her? Had he _(oh gods oh gods no please)_ died trying to rescue her?

Darkness crashed back over her, and she let it take her. 

When Daine next awoke in the soft warm darkness she lay perfectly still. Now that she was fully awake she had to think about what was going on – and she was utterly bewildered. She told herself that the warm comfort she had awakened in couldn’t possibly be real. She squeezed her eyes shut again and then opened them so wide they ached, pushing the blanket impulsively away and staring about her in confusion. The floor had been cleaned and shone spotlessly. There was a fire, and there was a carpet on the floor, and heavy curtains were hung against the windows.

She sat up and felt the chain cutting into her palm when she pressed it against the bed. The silver bracelet had always felt cold but the gold had warmed to the temperature of her skin, and the delicate links felt almost alive when they moved across her hand. She shuddered and pushed herself backwards, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them defensively. Her muscles trembled with the pain of being unused for so long. 

She recognised this room. If she took a deep breath she could probably still smell the coppery tartness of blood. The last time she had been in this room she had been standing over the body of an official, and a stained knife had dripped cooling, curdling blood onto her bare feet. 

It was a sick joke, and it worked. She felt as small and helpless as she had on that night, when she’d realised they would have no other choice but to kill her. She ached all over and her head pounded horribly, but more than anything else she couldn’t help thinking that she was in the wrong place, and she would be punished. The officials never did anything without a reason. She knew them well enough to realise that any kindness would be harshly credited; she would owe them a debt of blood and pain, and they were more than happy to demand their repayment.

If she had awoken in her cell then she would have known how to act and what to expect. Waking up in the room of an official, tucked up cosily in bed with a fire roaring merrily in the hearth, she felt such terror that she could barely breathe. She tucked her head down, willing her hands not to tremble even as the knuckles turned white. 

Without thinking about it, her breathing slipped into the peaceful rhythm of meditation and she found herself drifting into her core. She had no idea what she would find there, now that there was a new chain trapping her magic. It hadn’t burned her this time, and when she looked at her magic she understood why. Before, the flares of her gift had struggled to escape, not caring that she was hurt as they writhed against the chain. 

Now, half-tamed, her magic waited impatiently. It pulsed against her core like a tide, pushing at the odd greenish cords of magic which were surely from the charms, but it didn’t lash out wildly. Every time her magic flared the wash of black fire which drifted peacefully through her core washed over the bronze, forcing it into stillness. 

Daine blinked at the sight, and felt a sudden rush of tearful joy. Numair was here. He was helping her, even when she had been torn away from him. Seeing his magic was almost like sitting beside him and feeling him taking her hand, pressing it to his heart. _It’s okay, sweetling. You’re fine. You can deal with this. I’m here. I’m helping you. I’m with you._

She opened her eyes and blinked away a tear. Crying wouldn’t help. She tried to think about what her friends would say. Not just Numair: she could imagine him rolling his eyes in his quick, impetuous way and coming up with a plan so complicated that it made her head spin, while to him it seemed perfectly straightforward. She couldn’t think like that. 

Daine lay back against the bed, pressing a cool hand to her headache. She tried to think like her other friends, but struggled. 

She couldn’t think like Hazelle or strategize like Alanna. She was neither a spy nor a knight. 

_I’m a bit of everything, really._ She thought wryly, and felt her lips twitch in something close to a laugh. The nervous tic turned into a scowl when she thought more slowly, _Yes, that’s right – I’ve changed. I’ve changed a lot. I’ve learned from all of them, and I’m stronger for it. The officials don’t know that. I can use that. I can… I can…_

Her eyes fluttered shut as she thought, and a memory began…   
_  
“I think I worried them.” Numair told her, and then he laughed._

_She remembered that his fingers had traced gentle lines along the scars that latticed her back. It was an odd sensation. They lay entwined in sheets which were in a hopeless tangle from their lovemaking. The naked skin on her back was cool from the night air, but it burned wherever he touched her. She had mirrored his gesture with sleepy slowness, feeling smooth, warm skin across his spine where her own was marred, and couldn’t help asking how he’d escaped being beaten. Daine had laughed incredulously at his response._

_“That’s the stupidest answer I’ve ever heard!” Daine’s reply was soft, teasing, but her expression was genuinely confused. “It doesn’t explain why they didn’t hurt you. I’m fair glad that they didn’t, but you laughed at them! You… well, I refuse to believe that you didn’t argue with them. And I once saw them drag a boy off for sneezing too loudly. I just don’t understand.”_

_He had been silent for a moment, eyes thoughtful, and had suddenly grinned. He sat up and then pulled her up to join him, ignoring her sleepy protest._

_“It’s easier if I show you,” he said, and then covered her cheeks and forehead with scores of tickling feather light kisses until she laughed and pushed him away._

_“Alright, you dolt. You win! I’m awake!” She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. “What’s this demons-stray-tion then?”_

_“I refuse to believe you didn’t butcher that word on purpose.” His voice was dry, “But regardless… have I told you how beautiful you are today?”_

_“Is it after midnight?” She asked, but the playful words were half lost when she tried not to blush. He caught her hand when she tried to cover a smile, and held it tightly._

_“You see? You always do this,” he told her. “I know how you’ll react. I know that you won’t be… well, sad, or angry, and you won’t be afraid. You’ll smile, and you’ll look away as if you can’t believe I’m not speaking about someone standing behind you.”_

_“I can’t help it,” she said shyly._

_“I know – that’s why it makes a good demonstration.” He exaggerated the word a little, and Daine pulled a face._

_“Did you tell the officials they were beautiful, too?” She asked in a tart voice. He shook his head, and a good deal of his playfulness fell away as his memories returned to the keep._

_“No. They were in control. And they knew it. I couldn’t do anything except react. I couldn’t speak about something if they didn’t want to hear it, and I couldn’t move an inch unless they unchained me. So every interaction I had with them was them trying to make me react. They wanted me to be afraid, or angry, so they chose words which they thought would make me lash out.”_

_“But… you didn’t.” Daine finished, working it out like a puzzle._

_“No.” He looked away for a moment. “I didn’t. How could they scare me when I wanted to die? How could they make me angry when all my fury was directed at the Hawk? They only got close once, and it was when they told me you’d died. I thought I’d killed you, and for a few horrible moments I wanted to lash out at them… but I laughed. Like a child who hears a funny story. And, you know…”_

_He looked back at her, and gently followed the shape of her eye along her cheek with his thumb. “As soon as I thought it might be a made up story, I realised that it had to be the truth. Because otherwise, why would they tell me? They play with power, but at the end of the day they can only use what we give them. Our tears, our pain, our loneliness… that’s what they want. So why give us the truth? Lies are much more effective.”_

_“So they didn’t understand you.” The girl said slowly, “They wanted to goad you into breaking a rule, but they didn’t know how. And when you did laugh at them it was… confusing, not infuriating, so they couldn’t beat you, because they didn’t know why you’d done it in the first place. Is that it?”_

_“Mm. I’m rather relieved we escaped when we did, if I’m honest,” Numair’s voice took on a serious note. “I’m not sure I’d be able to laugh as easily under a whip. Risking our lives to get away seems easy by comparison.”_

_“I’m just relieved we escaped!” Daine replied fervently, but her eyes were mischievous as she lay back down and pulled him irresistibly towards her. He didn’t answer, but she felt his heart racing when he kissed the side of her neck, and then the hot softness of his breath against the cool skin of her shoulder, her collarbone, her breast. Her words fled from her mind like birds; she could only make soft whimpers of pleasure as she arched up under him._

_They made love so gently that it felt like a dream. Daine shut her eyes against the languid pleasure-pain of it and felt the soft brush of his lips on her eyelids._

_“Open your eyes,” he whispered. She did; she focused on him and saw more love than lust in his dark gaze. Daine knew then that her lover would never be able to hide the tenderness between them, not with those artlessly adoring eyes. She only realised that there were still words to be said when he murmured them into her ear, and every soft syllable was coloured with wondering sincerity._

_“I would have risked death a thousand more times if it meant we could be together.”_

Daine’s eyes flew open, startled by the sound of something clattering. A pair of terrified brown eyes glanced at her from the hearth, and the boy rapidly scraped the scattered coals back into the tipped-over pail. 

_I must have fallen asleep,_ Daine thought, blushing at the dream she’d been having. She smiled shakily at the boy. “Hello.”

He jumped and his eyes widened for a moment, and then he was gone, fleeing in a crash of door hinges and unsteady footsteps.

The girl blinked after him, rubbed her eyes, and then realised with mortifying insight that it was how she would have acted if someone had greeted her just a few short months ago. It's how she _had_ acted. She remembered how Numair's greeting had sent her cowering into the mouldy straw of his sickroom and bit back an embarrassed cough at the way she had behaved. 

_That’s what they expect me to be like._ She thought, and there was sudden strength in the words. _Well, that wasn’t even Daine. That was the Slave. That’s not who I am any more. I can be whatever I want to be._

She sat up in the bed, and instead of looping her arms around her knees she swung her legs around to the side and sat up straight, making sure her head was raised and her shoulders were squared. She lowered feet that didn’t try to cringe away from frozen stone floors, and rested them gently on the blood stained carpet. Forcing herself not to wince at the sharp pains that darted across her bruised ribs at the movement, she raised her hands to her shorn head and smoothed the soft, cropped hair into neatness. 

Then she stood up and gathered the leaf-green dress about her as if it were a ball gown made of finest Yamani silk. It was still beautiful even though someone had torn off the valuable amber buttons and stolen away the matching necklace and earbobs that Hazelle had let her borrow. Even the belt that Numair had given her was missing. That fact made her feel a twisting pain and she held her breath for a second to chase it away. 

Daine raised her head with false arrogance and shut her eyes. 

_This is not a game._ She told herself, and for one last moment she let herself feel afraid. _It’s not like being in Hazelle’s house. If they realise for a second that you’re pretending then it won’t work._

She raised her head imperiously, and looked at the corner where the odd light-warping glimmer of a listening spell was badly hidden among the beams. Her words were refined, light, and held just the right level of annoyance. 

“I have been kept _waiting!”_

And then, because she knew they would be distracted by hearing her voice, the girl let her hands fall to her stomach. Her lips shaped a fervent prayer for the tiny spark of life that she desperately hoped was still there.


	39. Demons Stray 2

If Daine had been asked what the one most ridiculous result of her demand could be, she never would have thought of something this absurd. She looked up when the door opened, preparing to repeat her imperious demand, and her mouth gaped open at the sight that was in front of her. 

“Karenna?” Daine breathed, and felt a wild laugh starting in her stomach. The other woman frowned, then scowled at her when Daine couldn’t stop laughing. 

“You have nothing to laugh about.” Karenna said icily, putting her hands on her hips. Despite her annoyance, her lips quirked up at the corners when she said, with some pleasure, “I can have you whipped for laughing at me, slave!” 

Daine wiped away a tear of mirth and shook her head. 

“No, you’re right,” she agreed, “but I can laugh at myself. Did you know, Karenna, that all this time, I actually felt sorry for you? I felt bad because I thought you had no idea what your father actually did. I thought about what might happen to you when you find out. And I felt guilty for what we did to you.” She smiled sickly and gestured to the belt that Karenna wore. “It’s almost nice to know that I was wrong about you. I’ll sleep better.” 

Karenna’s beautiful face darkened. “It doesn’t make your lies or your tricks any better. You stole Leto from me. You hurt me. You owe me.” 

“Well, I see you took my belt.” Daine said, her voice still light, but slightly sharp. She took a step closer, holding her back straight and her chin high and looking the taller woman in the eye. “He gave it to me as a gift after the first night we made love. I know you won’t give it back, but I just wanted to make sure that every time you look at it, you’ll be thinking of me and him together.”

Karenna looked down at the belt automatically, and her face flushed as she stopped herself from running her fingers along the delicate pattern on the leather. Apparently the woman knew Daine’s story but still somehow believed that Leto was a noble lord. Daine wondered again how much Orsille actually let Karenna know about his life here. 

“So what?” Karenna blustered, but she couldn’t meet the other girl’s eyes in her confusion. “He might have slept with you, but he would have married me, in the end. I would have won him back. When he found out what you are... a murderess and a slave…”

“He knew.” Daine said in a level voice, “I never lied to him. Do you lie to the people you love, Karenna?”

“Don’t call me that!” Karenna looked up then, her face blotched and ugly with anger. “I’m Lady Orsille. They said that my father owns you. They said you had to call me ma’am, or miss, or my-lady. They said you were one of his slaves. That means you’re _my_ slave. You have to do what I say.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” The girl shrugged, and tried not to think about Karenna’s gleeful promise of having her whipped as she turned away. She was thinking rapidly. Her first thought had been that Karenna knew what was going on in the keep, but now she was starting to think it was another trick. 

Perhaps Orsille had promised that his daughter could have her revenge, and she had demanded to get it herself. Daine couldn’t imagine the man letting another person steal his fun, though, no matter how much he adored his daughter. So maybe that was wrong. Perhaps the other officials knew it would unsettle Daine to have to confront an actual noblewoman. Karenna would have jumped at the chance to gloat over her fallen rival. 

Either way, Daine found herself feeling sorry for Karenna. The pampered chit had clearly had just been told a few choice facts, and so she didn’t know everything. She was making a fool of herself. Daine pushed her pity aside and thought: _I can use that._

She chose her words carefully, and practiced them in her head as she walked across the room. 

The window was a few steps away, but she could feel the other woman’s glare burning into her back with every step. She took a deep breath when she reached the window sill, knowing Karenna wouldn’t be able to see how white her knuckles were from gripping the frame. 

“I’m not afraid of the officials, or of any threats you make. And, Karenna...” she looked around, and let the woman see the genuine pity that burned in her eyes.

Karenna flinched and actually took a step back when Daine said, her voice full of sympathy, “I’m not afraid of _you,_ Karenna. Because you believe that I’ve already won. In your head, I’ve taken one of the only things you wanted, and I’m never giving it back. He’ll never love you. Not the way he loves me. Never. I know you came here to make me suffer for that, but it won’t make you feel any better, I swear it. Because every time you see me, or speak to me, or tie my belt around your waist, you’ll remember how I won. How I beat you. And how much I loved every second of it.” 

Karenna stared at her breathlessly, her skin flushing red, and then paling to a bluish white, and then reddening again as she tried to think of how to answer. Daine looked at her steadily, and her voice was rich with pity as she took in the fine clothes that the woman wore, and thought about the absolute certainty that had been written on Karenna’s face until the slave had stripped it away. 

“Oh Karenna,” she said sadly, feeling sorry for her. “Has anyone ever refused you anything in your life?” She looked at the mute woman, and then shook her head and waved a hand in dismissal. 

“Go away, Karenna, and don’t get mixed up in this. It’s not worth it. They promised you revenge, but it won’t make things any better for you. You don’t want to play their games, I swear it.”

Karenna gaped at her, and then turned on her heel and left so quickly the door recoiled in its frame before the guard outside remembered to bolt it shut. 

The next visitor her hidden captors sent her was Lord Parsey, and Daine had to stop herself from smiling when she realised how the officials were going to play this game. They would send one person after another until they worked out how she was going to react, or until one made her weaken, and then they would strike. 

Well, Parsey was easy enough to deal with. Now that he had captured her she had nothing to lose, and she could remember the pathetic fear on his face so clearly that seeing his flabby features again nearly made her laugh out loud. 

She let him get close, tolerating the rough imprint of his nails on her arm without flinching, and then said in a refined, matter-of-fact voice: 

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Parsey looked up, and an odd look crossed his face when he saw there was no fear on the girl’s face. She was watching him with a kind of detached interest, as if he were a moth caught in a jar. He reddened at the thought. 

“I’m not going to fall for your little rich-girl act. It may have worked on Orsille’s silly daughter, but...”

“Oh, it’s not an act.” Daine didn’t move, just watched impassively as he drew his knife. His hands shook when he raised it to her throat and she met his eyes levelly, certain that he wouldn’t kill her. He cut through the tie at the neck of her shirt and pressed the blade to her exposed throat. She shrugged, and felt the sharp edge cut into her skin with detached pain.

“I know you can’t kill me. You need me alive. I don’t know why you’re bothering with threatening me. It’s fair pathetic. I’m not going to pretend I’m afraid of a pathetic grub like you.”

“You’re right: I won’t kill you. That’s not the idea at all.” Angry blotches appeared on his face and he hit her so hard that she was sent reeling. She raised a hand instinctively to her throbbing cheek, gasping in pain, and then lowered it and forced herself to laugh. The gold chain chimed sweetly when she raised the hand to him, as gracefully as a dancer offering herself to a partner. He blinked. 

“Do you know why this didn’t burn me when you put it on my wrist, Lord Parsey?” She asked, raising an eyebrow as if he were an ignorant child. When he paused she smiled encouragingly and stood up, looking slightly disappointed at his lack of manners when he didn’t help her. “Oh, and it was such a simple question! Never mind, I’ll tell you.” 

She leaned closer, her voice a confiding murmur. “I have protection. Without it, my own magic would kill me in a second, because it’s trying to fight against the chain. That’s the problem with us wild creatures.” She raised her eyes to the window and smiled, “We want to be free.”

He laughed, cruel bravado overpowering his confusion. “Want freedom all you please, creature. It won’t make any difference. We own you.”

“No,” she said peacefully, and waved a hand in the air. “You only own my body, and even then… you have to keep me alive. _I_ own my magic.” Her voice became vicious, “And I can free it whenever I choose.”

“But then you’d die,” the man blurted out, his eyes baffled as he struggled to keep up with the conversation. She nodded and smiled happily, as if he’d solved a difficult puzzle. Inside, she was almost choking from trying not to laugh, and wondering how she’d been so frightened of the officials when so many of them were so foolish and muddle-headed. 

_No wonder Numair worked out how to fool them so easily,_ she thought, giving Parsey time to think over what she’d said. _He could probably outsmart them in his sleep! I wonder why I never saw it until now?_

Daine didn’t think that perhaps not all the officials were as dim-witted as Parsey, or wonder if a stupid man had been sent on purpose so they could see what she would do. For the first time since being captured she was having fun, turning her childhood terrors into clowns with a few simple words. She studied the charms on the chain with absentminded affection, running them through her fingertips. 

“You need me alive, but I could kill myself in a heartbeat. You so kindly gave me the weapon to do that. My old chain just made me ill, but this one is so much more powerful…” Her voice trailed off, and raised her eyes to him with a challenge written in them. “Do you really think I won’t use it? Hit me again. Find out.”

He stood quite still, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

“You won’t.” he said, but the words held little conviction. 

Daine stopped herself from smiling. She already knew that she’d won, and her words had dripped with a deadly promise that even Parsey couldn’t miss. What he had missed, however, was the way that those same words made her tremble. He didn’t know that they were a lie. Even saying them out loud felt like a betrayal. Daine knew she couldn’t kill herself, even though they had given her the weapon to do it. 

She might have done it a few months ago if they had let her, but not now. The slave might have died, but not Daine, and definitely not the child she carried. The moment’s hesitation didn’t stop her words from sounding any more deadly, but it was enough time for a wave of pure horror to rise in her stomach at the idea, and eclipse any victory she might have felt at the horrified expression on Parsey’s face. 

“If you touch me again – or any of your disgusting friends, for that matter - then I swear I will. I _swear_ it.” 

He stared at her, willing her to look away, but she looked back levelly until, like Karenna, he turned on his heel and left the room. Daine waited for his footsteps to fade before she sank to her knees, keeping her gasping breaths as quiet as possible so the listening spells couldn’t detect them. The chain clattered against the stones on the floor as a reminder of the awful lie that she’d just told, and she sat up straight with shaking hands raised to her head. 

She didn’t let herself rest a hand against her stomach to protect the almost imperceptible life that grew there. She had just realised, with a crashing feeling of despair, that her secret would betray her as swiftly as a loosed arrow. The officials might believe she would kill herself, but they would never accept that she would knowingly kill her child. She rested her head on her hands and took a shuddering breath.

That was it. That was her weakness. And it was like an ominously ticking clock, counting down the days until every single official in the prison would know exactly how to hurt her. 

_Oh Numair,_ she thought, and knew the words were trapped in her head because there was no answering flare of copper light. He was too far away to hear her, but the words poured from her like a prayer. 

_Oh, my love, please come and find me. I don’t know how much longer I can do this._


	40. Demons Stray 3

Parsey was sent away in disgrace; weeks passed in boredom, and then the door was unlocked. 

Daine agreed to return to work because it was the only way they would agree to feed her, but in truth she was almost grateful for the work. She had been locked in the opulent room for nearly a month since she had awoken, almost screaming with boredom as the door remained obstinately locked. She was given a place in the kitchen and peeled potatoes with good humour, practicing her courtly manners on the cook (who wasn’t impressed) and the kitchen maids (who mimicked her with wide eyes). 

Life fell into a routine, and if it wasn’t an interesting routine, it certainly wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Daine felt like she’d won her safety, which was more than she could have hoped for, and she knew that none of the men would dare to touch her now. Even the guards treated her with wary respect as they escorted her to and from her old cell. 

Things felt… normal. Daine sternly told herself off. From ‘normal’ it only took a few more absent thoughts before her time outside of the prison became abnormal: a short time away from the way she was supposed to live. Escaping, falling in love and hoping for a future… well, they all became pleasant memories for the cold evenings, whimsies with no more weight than the slow drift of pollen in the spring air.

Normal. Daine was disgusted at herself for even thinking of the word. She refused to forgive herself for it, or for the desperate lonely nights when she muffled her sobs against her pillow. Her disgust didn’t help her, though. In the daylight she could be strong, but every time her cell door locked behind her the girl couldn’t help wondering if the short time she’d spent with Numair was going to be the best few months she would ever live. 

No, she couldn’t think like that. Even if, after months without a single sign, she was starting to believe it was true.   
More weeks passed and she found that she was still waking up earlier than normal, her stomach churning. She muffled the sounds of her retching as best she could. If anyone had heard her, she might have explained that she wasn’t used to the poor food that the slaves were given. The excuse might work once or even twice, but sooner or later someone would work out why she was sick every morning. Then the ever-watchful officials would smile and take away this dull, grudging protection. The girl shuddered at the thought of what they might do next. 

She was careful to take out her own night pail, and tore the seams of her dress a little so that it fitted more loosely over her swelling stomach. She even asked the guards if she might have her old clothes back, knowing the flowing rags would have hidden triplets, but they refused: her old clothes had been burned. Her fading opulent gown stood out like a gem amongst the brown rags of the other slaves, and the guards saw no harm in the spittle, insults and rotten slops which they hurled at the girl. Daine gritted her teeth and daubed off the filth every night in the kitchen trough. She eked out the sagging stitches of the skirt with coarse hessian cord and a crude bone needle and let the fabric stretch and warp as it dried. 

One morning she was carrying a pail of kitchen slops to the pigsty in the courtyard, enjoying the soft warm breeze that told her that flowers were blooming beyond the stone walls. She was so captivated by the gentle perfume that she almost stumbled into another person who was walking the other way. The pail clattered to the stones, and they both recoiled from the crashing sound. The man cursed and Daine apologised fervently, and then looked up with wide eyes, bucket forgotten. 

“You!” She breathed, and laughed out loud before throwing her arms around the guard. He cursed and shoved her off. 

“What the hell are you doing, girl?” He growled, folding his arms to discourage any further grateful behaviour. She apologised breathlessly, unable to stop a smile from playing around her lips. 

“I’m sorry, I just... Numair told me what you did for him, and you gave me the blanket, and...” 

“And just talk a little louder, idiot, so everyone in the prison can hear you.” Ronan said sourly, his foot tapping impatiently. Daine flushed and looked back towards the corridor, but it was deserted. She looked at her feet, feeling guilty. 

“I’m sorry. I know it’s a huge risk for you...” 

“Yes.” He cut the sentence off shortly, and looked her up and down. “I’m officially carrying out a routine health check, if anyone asks. You look well enough, girl, even if you got yourself captured again. Gods, what a wasted effort that turned out to be. Maybe next time I won’t bother helping you.”

“Maybe.” She echoed, and smiled slowly. The healer was being surly and he wasn’t allowing even the trace of a smile to touch his eyes, but Daine was happier to see him than she could possibly describe. She and Numair had talked about the man, wondering what had happened to him after the night that they had escaped. They had agreed that he wouldn’t have helped them if it could possibly come back around to hurt him, but they were also both keenly aware that even the best plans could go bad. 

“I’m happy you’re safe,” she blurted out, wanting to say something in the few precious seconds before someone saw them and demanded to know what they were talking about. 

“Mm.” He grunted noncommittally, and then leaned closer and lowered his voice to a hiss. “Look, I’ve been trying to get an excuse to talk to you for days. You have to know: you need to watch out. Lord Orsille will be back in a few days.” 

“Back?” She felt a thrill of horror run through her at the man’s name, and shivered, loathing the man and the thrall he had over her. “You mean he’s not here now?”

“Do you think you’d be enjoying the sunshine if he were, girl?” Ronan laughed shortly, and ran a hand through his hair in agitation. 

“Look, from what I hear he’s fair furious at you. And he’s in charge. Do you understand that? He was the one who sent the other officials to punish you when you were captured. It was him who ordered them to back off, too, after you... you did whatever you did, I don’t know. He’s been in the other fort where the soldiers are gathered, making sure everything there is ready to strike your friends on the border. But they’re ready now. He needs the mages. Do you hear me? He’s coming back, and everything, everything, is going to get bad here.”

“He only wants the mages.” She whispered. 

“And his hostage,” He ran his eyes up and down her ragged dress, his expression scornful, “since you’re such a _precious asset.”_

She shuddered and cradled her head in her hand. “Why are you telling me this?” She whimpered, “You’re just scaring me. He won’t be interested in me. Not if he’s commanding an army. Not if...” 

“Fine. Lie to yourself.” Ronan pushed her back with the flat of his hand, enough to shake her out of her fear but not enough to hurt her. “You might have thought of that before you insulted his daughter, you know. If I was scared of someone I damn well wouldn’t be goading them.”

“Goading...” Daine whispered, and her mind took her back to the last time someone had said that to her. It had been when she’d been drawing the wolf away from her core. Numair had asked her to distract it...  
 _  
...“I said lure it away, not goad it!”..._

But simply luring it away hadn’t worked. She knew it would lose interest. It was a predator, after all. Numair didn’t understand that. He might read about animal minds, but she could feel their feral desires with a certainty that went far beyond intuition.

You cannot lure a predator. It will not follow. It only hunts. 

Daine had realised that if she goaded the wolf, if she made it furious, then it would be distracted. And it had worked! It stopped attacking her core, and turned away from Numair, and had focused all its energy on trying to destroy Daine. She was its prey, and that was all that mattered. 

Orsille may have decided that she was his prey too, but he would not be so easily swayed. 

“Perhaps...” she murmured aloud, “Perhaps... if he really is angry, perhaps it will make him less focused on the war. Then he won’t find it as easy to hurt my friends.”

“You are a very stupid woman.” Ronan said flatly, and she blinked. She had almost forgotten that the man was there. 

“Huh?” 

“I said you’re an idiot!” He yelled, and shoved her away so that she went reeling down the yard. “Look at this mess! The pigs would have carried it better than you, stupid slut!” 

Daine caught at the wall to stop herself from falling, and saw the silent servant who had just rounded the corner. Ah, she thought, and fell as if Ronan had shoved her a lot harder than he really had. 

“I’ll clean it up, sir, I promise!” She retorted, dragging herself upright with a wince of pretend pain. “I’m sorry! I didn’t realise you were there!” 

“Blind as well as stupid, are you?” He spat on the floor and stomped down the corridor towards the servant, who grinned at him. 

“What are you looking at, boy? See that she cleans up that mess before Dakinn gets back, or I’ll take it out of both of your skins!”

Daine scrubbed at the stones in a frenzy of thought, barely feeling her fingers cracking at the cold and the lye in the water. As much as Orsille scared her, she knew that she had to do something. A thousand soldiers might not be able to get a minute in the same room as the man, but she would be able to. 

“People do very stupid things when they’re angry,” she whispered to herself, and smiled. 

It was a few days later when she was summoned, but to her surprise it wasn’t to the official’s chambers, but to the healer’s. She stepped through the door, looking at the man curiously as he smiled thinly. 

“What did you want?” She asked, keeping her tone polite even if she refused to call him _sir._

Dakinn’s eyebrows raised, and he nodded to someone standing behind the door. Daine felt a hand take her elbow in a firm grip, and looked back to see the expressionless face of Ronan. 

“I don’t understand.” She looked back at Dakinn, her eyes wide. “What’s going on? What do you want?” 

“Me?” He raised an eyebrow towards the door, and she turned to look. There was someone else there, standing in the shadowed corner with a slight smile playing at his lips. She took in his soft face and silver hair with rising panic, and even though she'd been expecting it she couldn't stop a gasp of fear from rising from her lips. 

Orsille smiled. Slowly. 

“Second from the left,” Dakinn said behind her, and his words dripped with the heaviness of magic. “Tanz, errupara di mohrus.” 

A dull darkness grew from the chain around her wrist, and Daine gasped as she tried to pull it away from her skin. The darkness didn’t hurt, but it felt so cold that she shrank away from it. It grew, creeping along the curve of her arm towards her neck until it met her lips, and streamed into her lungs in a single frozen breath. 

Ice flooded through her body, and she stiffened and fell into Ronan’s ready arms as the blackness leeched upwards. It deafened her ears, and blinded her eyes, and finally howled into her mind in a dizzy swirl of screaming shadows.


	41. Demons Stray 4

Daine woke up because gentle arms were cradling her, and holding her upright while sweet tea was gently tipped into her mouth. She swallowed a few sips instinctively while her sleep-drugged eyes struggled to open. She nestled closer to the man who held her, sleepily leaning her head against his chest and trying to work out why Numair was holding her so strangely. It didn’t feel like his embrace at all! Then she remembered that it wasn’t, that it couldn’t possibly be him, and her eyes flew open.

“You’re quite affectionate when you want to be, aren’t you?” The man’s voice was amused but deliberately too loud, and she winced when her head ached. Then she recognised the speaker, and dragged herself away from him so violently that she heard the crash as the cup he had been holding went flying. 

“Clearly you’re not thirsty.” The official said dryly, and she stared at him in breathless panic as he shrugged and drew out a handkerchief to wipe the traces of tea from his hand. He shook a stray drop daintily away. “I won’t give you any more water for a few days, then.” 

Daine stood up and backed away against the wall, raising her hands to defend herself and looking around for something to use as a weapon. Disorientation made her head spin. This wasn’t the room Dakinn had summoned her to; in fact, it didn’t look like any part of the keep she’d ever seen before. The solid grey stone of the keep’s walls was gone, and instead there was a greyish rock which felt clammy and slimy under her shaking fingers. Apart from the stone there were no other clues as to where she might be. 

The room was almost empty: a square room with a small barred window with no glass in the ancient panes. Light streamed in mutilated shapes onto the floor, where a thick, rich blue rug covered most of the stone. There was no other furniture; the official was still kneeling on the rug and the cup had smashed against an iron ring in the wall beside a tiny fireplace. The ring held a new, thick chain, and the girl dully realised that the other end of the chain was bolted to a manacle that wrapped around her ankle. 

“Stay away from me, Orsille,” Daine snapped, returning to the one thing she could understand. Her voice came out as a parched croak. She reeled for a moment, pressing a hand to her head and wondering how long she’d been asleep this time. The man raised an eyebrow. 

“This is not a good start. But I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you look at that chain on your wrist and reconsider.”

She blinked and automatically looked down at her hand. The charms didn’t chime against each other. When she looked more closely, she saw that it was because they were more spread out than they had been before. She frowned. About half of them had been taken away, and when she risked a look inside her core she saw that the flare of her magic was barely enough to make her ill now that it had so much less to fight against. It certainly wouldn’t kill her, as she’d promised Parsey. 

Her weapon was gone. Any power she had enjoyed was gone with it. Daine slumped tearfully back against the wall and wished with all her heart that the slippery grey slate would swallow her up. 

Orsille had stood up without her noticing, and he took her limp hand. She shuddered as his thin fingers bit into the flesh between her thumb and palm, missing the chain with delicate precision. It was a gentle hold, but tense with restrained strength. 

“Your game is over.” He said in a voice that almost held pity for her. “You were doing very well, I admit. It’s been entertaining watching a little girl toying with my officials, but I’m afraid playtime’s over.” He leaned closer, and she could see the odd smattering of freckles under one eye and the fastidious neatness of his silvery beard. “Do you understand, girl? You’ve made a fool of all of them. Well, fine. If you refuse to co-operate with them, then you’ll just have to speak directly to me.” 

“I co-operated.” She muttered. 

“No. You did what you wanted to do, and nothing more.” He waved a hand dismissively. “They were supposed to make you talk, not talk back. Co-operating would mean that on the day I returned I could summon you to sing for me like a little brown bird.” 

“Sing?” Daine almost laughed. “What…?” 

“Sing.” There was no humour in his reply; his eyes sharpened. “Sing me the song about the Tortallan ambushes, Annette. Where are they? Or perhaps the one about the Lady Knight – what is she afraid of?”

“I don’t know any of those things. Why would they tell me? I didn’t care.” She did laugh this time, drawing herself a little more upright so she could look him in the eyes. He met her gaze levelly, and she had to look away first. His blue eyes were unsettling, so cold they looked like pure clear water. 

“No? Then what about the Hawk Mage? I’m sure you could sing a pretty song about _him._ What is he afraid of?” 

Daine paled and looked away, instinctively shaking her head. Orsille laughed and the sound sent a chill down her spine. 

“I’ll make a deal with you, Annette.” He said, his voice honeyed. “You think you can bargain with me because I need you alive. There are lots of very unpleasant ways to stay alive, Annette. Didn’t it occur to you that I could have kept you asleep? I imagine you’ve had a lot of fun playing with the others while I’ve been away. How long did you think it would last, out of interest?” 

She refused to reply. He absently stroked her hand with his free fingers, not releasing his grip for a second. “You and I have been here before, remember? The other officials might not know what to do with you, but then most of my colleagues don’t even know the difference between an unconscious woman and one that thinks… feels…” he tightened his fingers, and smiled thickly when she cried out and fell to her knees. “…and screams.” He finished, and dragged her to her feet. 

Daine yanked herself away, panting in pain, eyes wide as she stared at him. He lounged nonchalantly against the wall and inspected his fingernails. 

“Before the Hawk ripped his lungs out, that idiot Parsey told me that you threatened to kill yourself,” he said nonchalantly, and didn’t bother looking up. “I know that you won’t. So you can stop that silliness right now.” 

“You don’t know _anything_.” The girl spat, catching her breath. She tried to remember all her carefully made plans, but they whirled sickly under the work ‘Hawk’. She flatly refused to believe that Numair had become the Hawk, not after all the promises he’d made and the stories he’d told her about the creature’s grotesque rampages. She searched Orsille’s face for a hint of a lie, and he shrugged. 

“I know you’re carrying that murderer’s bastard.” The barbed words were said with such blank carelessness that she blinked, unsure if he’d even said them or she’d just imagined her worst nightmare happening in front of her eyes. Despite herself one hand curved around her stomach, as if she could protect the baby from this monster with just a hand. 

“How?” She breathed, and mentally cursed herself before her thoughts could all be spoken aloud. I was so careful. I didn’t let them see me throwing up, or… or… 

“Dakinn.” Orsille named the healer with a smirk and a wave of his hand. “I asked him to take away enough charms to make that chain less of a… a weapon, if you will. He asked which charms were expendable… and he told me which ones were redundant.”

Daine flinched and looked again at the new chain, and with a jolt she realised what was strange about it. She could feel her magic. She could hear the chatter of wild voices, and feel the soft pulse of her core. If she chose, she had no doubt that she could cast any magic she chose. 

Why? The chain was supposed to stop her magic, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything apart from trapping it under her skin, and making it fitful. She remembered Numair saying that her magic was different from his, and wondered if perhaps it meant it couldn’t be held in the same way. The dramatic tangle of charms they had bound her with might have stopped it, but now that so many of them had been taken away the chain seemed useless. 

_I can use my magic,_ she thought, dazed. _Dakinn would never have done that. It must have been... would Ronan have done it? Did he make the chain useless on purpose? Orsille doesn’t know that!_

Daine bit her lip. So what? She couldn’t use her magic, not really. She couldn’t risk losing her mind in the shape of an animal when she had a child to protect. Her words were cautious when she asked: 

__“What was the deal you wanted to make?”

__Orsille smiled thinly. “There are two options. First: You fight, and plot, and try to run away, and we leave you in a pit to rot until the war ends. We’ll give you enough food to keep you alive, even if it’s just… barely. Even if it’s just _you._ Or…” 

__“Or..?” She echoed, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. He nodded approvingly and took a step closer.

__“Or, my little wolf cub, you behave yourself. Things go back to the way they were before. No trips to the farms, though, or time in the kitchens… we can’t have you picking up more knives, can we? You’ll stay right here, where I can keep a close, close eye on you and hear every song you keep in that dainty little head. If you had anything interesting for me, I’m sure I can find a little more food for you, and perhaps we might even heal you every once in a while. We wouldn’t want you to lose the baby, would we?”

__“Heal me?” Daine whispered, but she knew what was coming. Before his hand crashed into her side, she knew what he was going to do. Her nightmares always started like this. Orsille smiled with friendly openness one minute, and struck her the next. He had always been so unpredictable that even his smiles were terrifying. She fell heavily to the floor and tried to catch her breath, feeling pain blossoming from broken ribs as she coughed up blood.

__“Either way,” Orsiille’s voice was suddenly dark and utterly merciless, “You and that demon hurt my daughter, and I swear I will make you pay for it. You have to learn that you’re _nothing._ We could have killed you years ago. You owe every breath you’ve taken for the last six years to us, you ungrateful bitch. The fact that you even spoke to Karenna is enough for me to throw you in the pit. I’d love to see you rot away in the darkness, I really would. And that’s before we even think about the lying, flitting about in pretty dresses and acting like you had any right to speak to normal people. I could lock you away for a thousand years and you would still deserve more, and by the gods, I will make you rue every moment you spent outside of these walls. How _dare_ you?” 

__“I’m a person too.” She choked out.

__“No. You’re not a person. You’re a liar, and a bastard, and a murderess, and a whore.”

__“Yes,” she didn’t look up to see his fury at being interrupted. It was what she wanted, his anger, and yet even the thought of it still made her feel violently sick. Her quiet voice echoed from the wall.

__“You’re right. I _am._ I guess I’m all those things. But it was you who made me that way. You must be stupid, thinking I chose to be who I am. Outside of these walls I was becoming… no, I was, a better person.” 

__Her voice took on the odd note of truth, and Orsille stared at her as she said, “I didn’t lie to the people that mattered. They knew what I am, just like you do, but they wanted to help me. They taught me to… to find a way to make it better. Here I’ve spent my whole life being told I’ll never be better, that I have to give myself to disgusting creatures like you just to survive for another month in chains and darkness. If you really cared about making me pay for my crimes, then why bring me back to them? I may be a whore, but you’re an _idiot.”_

__The man was silent for a long while and she kept staring at the floor, hands clenching and unclenching into nervous fists. She had no idea how he would react. She had never actually spoken to him before. But his changeability scared her, as did his silence. He could be silent, or kind, or gentle for hours, proving that he was capable of all of those things, before…

__….before his booted foot crashed into her side, and she felt a stab of pain dart across her stomach. She screamed and curled around, hands clutching at the pain even as terror flooded through her for the unborn child. His voice was curt, petulant as he hissed in her ear and his warm spittle flecked her face.

__“You have until nightfall to reflect on what your life will be like without a healer. Choose.”

__She wrenched her head up to glare at him, and he laughed before the door locked behind him. As soon as it clicked she hauled herself to her feet, gritting her teeth at the pain and fitfully wiping the blood and spit from her chin. To her relief the pain soon faded. To take her mind off it, she counted the number of steps she could take before the chain bit into her ankle: she could touch the corners of the wall she was chained to, and take four steady paces forward towards the door.

__She wondered that Orsille bothered to lock it at all; even if she stretched out her arms and reached as far as her fingers could go, she was still too far away to touch the iron-barred wood.

__She tried the other two walls. The bare stones of the interior wall didn’t interest her, but the window did. She could almost reach the near edge of it when the chain stopped her, and with a twisting feeling she realised she couldn’t see out. She could see the edge of the sky, though: a cold blue grey which had yellow rainclouds scattered on it. When she reached out she could just loop her fingers around the rusted bars that crossed the window, and even though the flakes of rust on the ancient metal hurt her hands, she held on and felt the breeze dance across her fingertips.

__It’s spring._ She thought, _It’s spring, and the birds are singing, and you have time to think. Calm down.__

_She sat down next to the fire, relishing the last few embers of warmth they might let her feel, and curled her feet under the tattered remains of her dress. _Now then, Daine. Think about this properly. You’ve been in the keep for weeks, that’s fair certain. And how long have you been asleep? It could even be months.__

_Despite herself, her hand reached down to where the dress was beginning to feel a little tight, and she ran her fingertips carefully along the shape of her stomach. She wasn’t a midwife’s daughter for nothing, and although her memory was clouded, she knew how quickly a baby grew. What had been a hidden but sure knowledge in Hazelle’s home had been a slight roundness when she’d been working in the kitchens. Now it was almost noticeable enough to be seen through her dress. After a few more weeks Orsille wouldn’t have had to ask Dakinn to know that she didn’t need a pregnancy charm._

__Why did I think I could hide it?_ She thought, pressing her head against the cool stone of the wall. Her second thought was bitter:  
 _Why didn’t I tell Numair?__  
  
She had tried to tell him. No, perhaps that wasn’t quite true. She had thought that the odd queasiness which had haunted her last weeks of freedom had been the result of eating unfamiliar rich food. She had pushed her breakfast away each morning without thinking – food which she would wolf down in seconds if she had it now. It had been a long time before she had let herself wonder if the sickness was something else. 

_With that thought had come a hundred others. She remembered that she had locked herself into her own room and sat in the window seat, pressing her head against the panes until it left a red mark._

__Is this what I want?_ She had thought over and over again, until the words had twisted into: ___

__Is this what we want?_ _

_Then it had become: _Is this what he wants?__

_They had made so many plans together. They both had so many things they wanted to do with their freedom that Numair had jokingly said they should write a list in case they forget their hundred-and-one-wishes. But neither of them, Daine thought, had planned for a child. They wanted to roam the world and see beautiful things without a single command to tie them down. They wanted to be safe, and warm, and secure behind unbolted doors. They wanted to climb mountains and sleep under unfamiliar stars._

_In a confused hypocritical tumble their future had grown wings, and now, Daine had thought, she had to chain them both back to the ground._

_Of course, several months later with an iron manacle biting into her ankle, Daine was damned sure that literal chains were a lot worse than metaphorical chains._

_Still, when she had tried to tell Numair that she thought she was carrying his child her words had failed her. On the last day she had spent with her lover her mind was wholly eclipsed by a hopeless tangle of guilt and hope and love and worry. She had reached out to him and lied to him with her kisses and embraces and in a thoughtless adoration which she now remembered as a heartless deceit.  
 ___  
I should have told him. I was scared. A coward. I am a liar, just like Orsille said.

_Her heart rose in her throat. She pushed the unfriendly memory away and forced herself to listen to the cold, practical voice in her head._

_So, you’ve been here for months. And you’ve not been rescued. You can’t just keep thinking that the others are going to come and take you away. The real world doesn’t work that way, girl, and you know it! So… what are you going to do?_  
  
“Things could go back to the way they were before,” she whispered one of her options out loud, looking at the fire with wry humour at the official’s words. Oh, she knew how he was thinking, and she could just imagine talking herself back into the life of the slave. It was almost comforting to hear the sardonic voice in her mind.  
 _  
Daine, you survived here for six years. After a while you can’t feel anything anymore, so it doesn’t hurt. You’ve had a fun little outing, and you know a little more of the world, and now things are… well… normal again._

_Except they’re not. And it’s because of Numair. He changed you. Do you remember how angry you were at him when you realised he was doing it? He gave you hope… the ability to feel… and you knew then that it meant you could never survive this place again._

_No… things won’t be the same as they were. But…_

_…Orsille doesn’t know how much I’ve changed, only that I have. I need to make him angry. So I need to think about this. Think about Orsille. He wants…_

_…I know what he wants._

Daine wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, keenly aware of the dimming light outside the window, and forced herself to remember the last time Orsille had made her into his plaything.  
 _  
You and I have been here before._

These weren’t the vague memories that seeing him in a dark winter’s night had recalled. She made herself remember his face, seeing his laughter and anger and lust and disgust and every expression in between. Back then she had been little more than a child, confused and lost in a world that only Orsille seemed to know the rules to. His fascination with her had soon faded – not because his anger or lust had diminished, but because she had stopped caring if she lived or died.  
 _  
He had thrown her into the communal cell called the ‘pit’ with the other slaves in petulant disgust, and it was then that she had met Anja, the murderous witch with the long dreadlocked hair and eerily bright laughter. Back then, the woman had been almost caring, stroking back the child’s hair with her emaciated fingers and crooning songs to her. She chased away the other prisoners, hissing at them like a snake and laughing hoarsely at their fear._

_When Daine had healed enough to care about where she was, Anja had started to tell her stories. Some were sweet, simple stories of fairies and sprites. Then, in the same gentle voice, she told stories about the girls she had cared for in her laundry. They had been servants that she found in the gutter, and slaves with nowhere else to go. They were the other girls who Anja had sang to, and loved, and caressed, and finally strangled with sodden linen sheets when they grew old enough, or bold enough, to want to leave._

_Daine pulled away from her at that, her eyes wide and accusing even in her muteness, and Anja laughed as if the whole thing were a joke._

_“You show fear tooooooo much, little grey-eyes.” She sang out, absently twisting a filthy dreadlock in her nails. “That’s why he likes you. Don’t let on that you’re afraid, not ever-never-never-no, my pet. Let the bastards do what they like, but don’t let them see your fear, or your tears, and you’ll be right as rain.”_  
  
And that was the truth, Daine realised. The last time this had happened Orsille couldn’t make her afraid of him, and so he had lost interest in her. She had been careful not to draw attention to herself after that, and he never called for her again. Until now. 

_If I'm going to bait him I need to keep him interested in me,_ she thought, and smiled bitterly. _Well, it won’t be hard to convince him that I’m frightened of him. He terrifies me. What else am I afraid of? Her hands warmed her stomach, and she smiled sadly at her body’s instinctive maternal reaction. Yes, she sighed, I can’t lose you, dear one. He’ll use that against us. But it’s a fear that will last, at least, and that buys us time…_

She was asking herself what-on-earth would extra time do for her, locked up here in this empty room, when a sparrow hopped through the metal bars of the window and cheerfully peeped a greeting at her. She jumped and cautiously returned the greeting, wary of using any magic without Numair around to safeguard her mind. 

-This is a strange place to roost,- The bird commented in a cheeky voice, fluttering around the room fearlessly. She smiled and held out a hand for it to perch on, and the creature nuzzled against her cheek.

“If I could roost somewhere else,” she told it, “I would. I wish I could fly out of the window with you.”

-Why don’t you?- The bird didn’t seem to think her size was important, and she scared a peep from him when she shrugged. 

“I won’t be able to go back to human. I’ll lose myself, and… and I don’t want that for my baby.”

The bird ruffled its feathers in awkward laughter and said, -We felt you, my mate and I. We have chicks growing outside the window. Fine chicks.- His chest puffed out in pride, and she smiled and congratulated him. He tilted his head to one side, and looked at her quizzically. –Well, I said I would meet you. See what creature you were. And I’ve done it.- 

“Yes.” She said solemnly, and hesitated. “Is your whole flock nearby?”

-Aye. Loud buggers they are, too.- He retorted, and she felt a stab of quick humour at hearing the Gallan phrase in a wild voice. She knew the sparrows wouldn’t all be nesting, and many would be bored, so she thought there might be some chance and asked, 

“Do you think you might convince them to… to help me?” 

She explained what she wanted, and the bird croaked his understanding before saying he would try to convince them. –When would you want to start?-

“Tonight,” she said, and breathed in sharply as she realised what else she would have to agree to. “A… another human will come here tonight, and he’ll… he’ll…”

 _I have to think about it,_ she told herself, and curled her hands into fists. He’s playing one of his sick tricks on me. _I don’t really have a choice. Even if I don’t agree to his deal he’ll still knock me down and force himself on me._

She thought about the last way that Numair had changed her, and wondered if he fully understood what it had meant to her to be shown love and gentleness when all she had known before was the careless and clumsy pawing of drunken officials, and the petty roughness of cruel men. Orsille, she thought with a sick rush of irony, had been right. Such men didn’t care if she was awake or asleep. 

But Orsille wasn’t like the others. She understood now, with clear eyes and with the memory of the gentle hands of her lover, that the official enjoyed inflicting pain almost as much as he enjoyed the act itself. And, as horrible as it sounded, and as much as the thought made her run to the fireplace and retch into the cooling hearth, it meant that she was lucky that he was the one who had decided to toy with her. If it had been one of the other men she wouldn’t have been able to predict what they would do, and her terror would have stopped her from trying. 

He was predictable, and she smiled, because she could use it to destroy him. Everything he did to her, she vowed to herself with vicious hatred, she would have revenge for. He would be digging his own grave.

“I can’t just escape in your mind,” she whispered to the bird, “Because I’ll lose myself. I have to… have to… remember what it is to be human. The other human will… he’ll keep me here. He’ll want me to feel every second of it. He’ll make sure of that. And so… so that’s when we will fly.”


	42. Demons Stray 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Just a note to say thank you so much to everyone who's given me kudos on this story so far! I'm so flattered that so many people are reading!

Daine stood up and faced the official when he opened the door, head meekly bowed in the only answer it was possible for her to give. He didn’t even look surprised, but he locked the door carefully and crossed the room, raising clawlike hands to touch her cheek. She shivered but forced herself to stay still, trying not to think, trying not to react. 

All she could think about were the birds. If the plan was going to work, then she had to try it now, but they hadn’t agreed to help her yet. She forced herself not to speak to them, knowing that if Orsille thought for a second that she was using her magic then he would surely kill her. She kept her head bowed and her expression carefully blank, and listened to the birds singing in the night air. Her heart rose: they were agreeing to help her. She ducked her head to hide a smile. 

He stroked her cheek gently, and his lips curved in a gentle expression at her apparent obeisance. “Good girl. That wasn’t so difficult a choice, was it?” 

“Are you going to hurt me?” She asked quietly, hoping he would think she was asking out of fear. He wasn’t to know it was important. She couldn’t risk the magic without pain to bring her back. His fingers stilled for a moment, and then he ran his fingertips up through her cropped hair. She could feel the sharp edges of his nails. His voice was amused. 

“What do you think?”

“Do you care what I think? Would you even listen to me? Well, I think you enjoy it.” She said, and her voice was poisonous as the words poured out of her unbidden. “I think you can’t be a man unless someone’s crying under you. I think you’re pathetic, and I think you’re sick.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” He said quietly, and his nails bit into the nape of her neck. She raised her eyes to meet his, and let him see the loathing that she knew burned in them. 

“You threaten me with the death of my unborn child. That’s the action of a weak man. A coward.” 

“And yet, it worked.” He smiled broadly, and the open friendliness in the expression was far more horrifying than any threatening look. Her insults washed off him like rainwater, Daine realised. He looked amused at even her sharpest words, and there was something else lurking in his smile which she could only dread. She swallowed back bitter bile and stared at the floor. He stroked her cheek affectionately. It was as if she had recited words of love to him rather than hate. 

She tried to move away from him then, and she found that even if his caresses were gentle the hand which locked around her wrist was immovable and cruel.

“No.” He told her, and for the first time there was iron in his voice. “You made your choice, whore.”

“I had no choice.” She spat. “I had to sell myself to a vile man to save my baby’s life. You’re the one who should be ashamed, not me.” 

His fingers trailed gently down her neck. “I’ve bought your obedience, Annette. I’ll accept your rather endearing hatred as a gift. I must admit that you’re a lot more interesting since you gained a voice.”

Daine pressed her lips together tightly at that. Half of her was still cringing away from what she’d just said to someone who terrified her even in her dreams. Orsille looked intrigued rather than angry, and his hands became tender as he reached out and cupped her face, tilting it to one side, then the other as if she were a painted doll. He lifted her chin with one finger, eyes quizzical. 

“What happened to you? Where did my wolf go?” He asked, in a voice that would have sounded sympathetic from any other person. He took her hand and kissed it, holding it between warm hands, and she couldn’t help herself from shuddering. He raised an eyebrow and ran his fingers up her arm. “What did they do to you, my petal?”

“They were good to me. They’re good people. And they’ll come and find me.” She said, raising her chin defiantly and meeting his eyes like an equal. He laughed for an unsettlingly long time. 

“I see. There’s no great trick, then. They’ve just tamed you from a wild wolf into a loyal little lap dog.”

“Better a dog than a devious, slimy, pathetic old snake.” She retorted viciously. Orsille licked his lips and then struck her, laughing when she grabbed at the wall to stop herself from falling down. She raised shaking hands to her face, feeling the heat of fresh blood where his ring had scored a line along her cheek, and glared at him through her fingertips before spitting at his feet. 

He avoided it easily and turned away from her with cheerful nonchalance. “Take off that ridiculous rag of a dress.”

Daine had practiced letting her mind drift away for so many years that she realised that she barely even had to meditate. She nearly wept when he finally stopped hitting her to crush her against the rug with heavy hands. Instead of letting her thoughts escape into the sky, as she longed to do, she found the copper spark of the bird’s mind, and gratefully slipped behind its eyes. She thanked it in a babble of tearful respite as the pain faded away into the back of her mind. 

For a few delirious seconds she was in both places at once, seeing the budding green acorns and the sweat that beaded his forehead, smelling the sweetness of the evening spring breeze and the sourness of his harsh breath on her cheek. Then she pushed her mind forwards, and felt her human body disappear into a distant shell. 

That was dangerous, too, though. Her mortal hands wanted to become feathers, filled with the mindless joy of freedom as the bird took wing. She wanted to sing and fly and never return to the ground. Then the loathsome human creature in the locked room thrust into her body with vicious force and the pain brought her back. It stopped her from shape-shifting, as she had hoped and feared that it would, and every time hurt tore through her she remembered, just for long enough, that she was supposed to be a human. 

_It’s enough,_ she thought, almost hating the fact that this was working. 

_Let’s go,_ she whispered into the bird’s mind, carefully shielding it from her agony when the official’s nails tore cruel lines into her back. _Let’s find them._

888

And now I fly. For hours, sometimes. For seconds, other days. Time has no meaning any more. 

I fly until I can’t bear it any more, until my mind is dragged back to defend my body. I think that if I stayed away it would be a kind of death, where my body finally surrenders and my mind is free. Sometimes that seems better. A better life, dead, than every putrid second I have to fight for under his hands. 

That’s not life. It’s not even close. 

Are you looking for me?

I search the valleys for you but I cannot find you. I think you have hidden yourself away with the Tortallan soldiers and the mages. I find myself hoping that your disguise will keep you safe. It must be comfortable to have a reason to hide. Where better to hide a mage than with other mages? That trick works for you even better than it works for me. 

We might be a few short miles apart, but in months you still haven’t found me. I won’t be bitter. I won’t blame you. I can’t find you, either. 

Which one of us is the hostage? Something keeps you away from me, or else you would have come and found me. You would have rescued me from my cage. A thousand times, that’s what you said. You would have risked death a thousand times for me back then, when you said you loved me. A thousand deaths couldn’t keep us apart, but a few pathetic illusions and some iron bars seem to have done the trick. 

I never believed you anyway. Your world had no bars. You made your own cage, and you could have gone back to Tortall whenever you chose. It was your sense of ‘right’ that kept you here, beating your wings against the mountains until they trembled. Your years of exile – so what? You could still roam the mountains, see the sky. You could walk in the sunlight even if you were still trapped inside your own mind. 

The iron cuff bites into my ankle. It has worn a thick callous on the skin, another ring of hard unforgiving material which makes me hate the limit of my own flesh. What are your chains, Numair? What is keeping you away from me? 

I know, deep down, that you are afraid. 

What will you admit? Not that you are scared. Never that. But let these words cross your lips: You are afraid for me. 

It’s true. Tell me it’s true. 

Even now I love you for it. I cling to it like a child. Sometimes I whisper it into the darkness, even when the man I loathe is lying beside me:

There is someone who fears for me. I am worth protecting. I am worth loving. 

Orsille is wrong to use me the way that he does. He is cruel, and vicious, but most of all he is blind. He is unable to see that I am worth loving. 

He cannot break that certainty away from me, and sometimes I think it confuses him. Perhaps that would make you laugh, my love. Not that he hurts me, but that when he has finished my loathing sometimes turns into pity so quickly that he can see it on my face. He draws away from me as if my pity burns him. 

Only sometimes, though. Just as often I feel only hatred, or my throat burns with screams which he smothers from my lips. I speak less and less. 

I speak to you, my love, but you cannot answer me. There is no copper light any more. There is only the dim barred light from the window, and the firelight which helps Orsille see acts which I would much rather hide in the dark. Let my words stay in that darkness, too. 

If you can hear me, please don’t answer. I can’t bear the thought of you hearing me. Steal my body away from this place before my words abandon me forever. Orsille will never break me, but time tears me apart. 

I don’t speak to you. 

I can’t. 

You’re not here. You never came. You never found me.


	43. Possession 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Letheliah - thank you for your amazing review!

Numair paced the small tent, irritably pulling at his hair and muttering to himself as he walked back and forth. He raised his hand to pull the tent flap aside, and the sight of the black feather mark etched into the back of his hand made him freeze. Then, with a loud curse, he turned away from the exit and resumed pacing. 

He’d been confined to the camp for months now. At first it had been endless waiting for the scouts to finish their survey of the mountain so they could decide where to dig. Now they were digging diligently, and sometimes he was needed to blast away weakened seams of rock or shore up collapsing tunnels with his gift, but more often than not he was uselessly stuck in his tent. It was intolerable. 

Alanna was sympathetic up to a point, and had agreed to let him study with the other mages in the morning. Numair had sharply asked her why she was happy for him to risk his gift with other mages and in the tunnels, but she still forbade him from helping Daine. The woman’s temper flared and she banished him to go and peel potatoes in the mess tent. 

Strangely the mindless chore had kept him occupied enough for a few days to calm things down. Then the official’s first squadrons had mobilised and Numair was left alone in the camp as soldiers fanned out across the valley. Sometimes he was needed as a mage and he took great satisfaction in blasting away scores of troops, but more often the risk of his losing control meant that he could only cast a few spells before having to retreat and leave the soldiers fighting alone. And didn’t that feel like another betrayal! He had started glaring at anyone who dared to came near him and kicking at the ground. Alanna finally lost her temper again and told him to keep to his tent. 

He didn’t realise, she told him, the effect that he had on the soldiers. They had heard stories. Everyone had heard the stories. And whether they were fuelled by fear or bravado, the men who approached him all wanted to know if those stories were true.

“They’re bored enough to goad you.” The knight had said flatly, and had shoved the mage to his feet. “I don’t want you to lose control just because some poor page lost a bet.”

“I thought I wasn’t going to lose control,” he retorted, “You took care of that, remember? I’m not hunting down those bastards who took Daine away, so that makes me perfectly safe, right?”

“Wrong.” She snapped, and pushed him into his tent. 

He might have turned to argue then, but Alanna had too much to do to waste time babysitting insane mages. Throwing the rough edge of the tent flap shut behind her, the lady knight soon forgot that she had been angry. 

The new soldiers were trickling in over the mountains from the heart of Tortall in small, inconspicuous groups. They brought stories and letters from everyone from the king to Alanna’s children, and they brought their own fury at the trick that the neighbouring country was trying to pull. It would take too much time to explain to them that the officials who were leading the army of mages were quite separate from the king of Galla and his court. 

Alanna was sure that the king knew all about it, of course. Karenna had let that slip. But his majesty had given the officials enough independence to mean that if their plan fell awry he could claim he knew nothing about it. 

Well, their plan would fall awry. She was determined of that. And she had her own plans. The mountains were a treasure trove of ambush points and potential traps. There were so many places for her spies to hide that it was almost laughable. The officials may have a fortress in the cliff-ringed valley, but they couldn’t know every inch of the miles of cliffs and caves that surrounded them. 

Numair had found one weakness beneath one of the forts, and in a few weeks the scouts had found several more. Tortallan soldiers, clad in the greasy, soot-stained furs of trappers, had crept unseen into the valley and were putting their feet up by Gallan fireplaces and complaining loudly to the innkeepers about the hard winter they’d spent struggling for food. Other soldiers – the ones who could fake the soft mountain burr- were working in the fields, tilling the land and chatting about the snowdrops which the ladies always seemed to swoon over whenever they found one... silly weeds that the plants were! 

Every one of the soldiers was under strict orders, and Alanna trusted most of them to carry them out: they were to blend in, to make friends with the civilians. When the war started, the mages would pour out of the keeps, and the knights the officials were amassing would come with them. The civilians would be swept away in a wave of bloodlust and fear. The army would want them to fight, and would do anything up to snatching sons from their homes to gather foot soldiers. Alanna was determined that it wouldn’t happen. She knew that a battle could be won by the people who fed the army, or who washed their clothes. When the war began, she wanted those people to be on her side. And so she told the spies to protect them, and to stop them from being conscripted, if it came to that. 

Without foot soldiers, the officials might find themselves struggling. Alanna smiled and stretched her arms up to the sky, content with a long day’s work, and didn’t see the bird circling above her outstretched fingers. 

The bird cheeped softly, uncomfortable flying when the sun had nearly set and the night predators were starting to prowl.

Alanna might have heard the cheep, but it was still close enough to sunset that it was lost in the general chorus of birdsong.   
Alanna couldn’t have heard the soft voice that spoke to the bird, its words gentle and soothing as it coaxed it to fly closer to the fires.   
_  
The owls might be nearby and the humans are around the fires._ The bird said nervously, circling around the columns of heat in the air. _They have bows. In the winter they eat birds, when there’s no other prey. I don’t like the humans._

 _But you’re very small, and they’re not very hungry._ The voice told it, and there was a hint of impatience in its calming tone. _They won’t be interested in you, I promise._

 _Why do we have to look at the humans? You found your camp. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?_ The bird sounded petulant, and the girl in its mind sighed.   
_  
I’ve been looking for the camp for months now. I’ve found lots of camps. But not the right one._ She told it sharply. _I need to find one person. No-one else will understand what we are. Just one human. And … gods, but I think he might actually be here. Please, please stop fussing. I know he’s here. And he’s not going to hurt you either._

 _I don’t like it._ The bird repeated stubbornly, _Why can’t we go home? Then you ask one of the others to bring you here tomorrow._

Daine stopped herself from screaming at the creature. It took a huge effort. 

The birds had worked out some kind of rota, and she had explored the valley in the mind of a different bird every night since she started her plan. Some of them were curious, enjoying exploring new places and asking dozens of questions about the strange things the humans did. Others, like this one, had taken her into their minds more grudgingly, and only wanted to fly a few miles before insisting that they return home. 

The first few weeks, Daine had asked the birds if they could look for Hazelle’s house. They had flown there so quickly that it felt like a dream. The girl remembered the weeks it had taken Numair and her to climb across the goat trails to the town from the fort, and wondered why the distance seemed shorter. 

It was only after the third night that she remembered that she might not be in the fort. The first few minutes she spent in each bird’s mind were always a sightless blur of pain and relief, and by the time her vision cleared they were flying through rocks that could have been anywhere. She couldn’t return to look, either: although her trick worked, her mind could only fly for a short time before it was hurled back to defend the shell of her body. 

When they reached Hazelle’s house it was shrouded in darkness. Daine told the bird to leave without a second thought. The creature paused and roosted on the roof, its voice curious as it asked why. 

_They’re not there._ She explained, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. _The humans I need. My flock. They’re not there._

 _Then we should find them._ The bird sounded as if it were pointing out the obvious to a young child, and Daine cheered up a little when she realised the creature was offering to help her look. She thanked it, and it sounded surprised. Of course! I can’t imagine losing my flock. You really are careless, human. When we find them you must promise not to do it again! 

And so the hunt began. And now, long weeks later, the cowardly bird refused to drift any lower than the edge of the firelight. 

Daine nearly reached out with her gift in frustration, knowing instinctively that if she forced the bird to comply the others might not trust her again. She gritted her teeth mentally and said,   
_  
Look, he probably has some food. Seed. Nuts. Berries. I don’t know. Food the other birds don’t have._

The bird paused for a moment, and drifted a little closer to the fire. Like all the flock, he was scrawny from the long winter, and the words were like a magic all by themselves. He cheered up, and some of the cheeky playfulness of all sparrows crept into his cunning voice when he fluttered down to a tent post and repeated: _Food?_

By the time they found the right tent the bird was enjoying the game, feeling his passenger’s excitement and chattering about how jealous the other birds would be at his amazing meal. Daine let him chatter, only needing a few moments to peek into each tent before knowing to tell the bird to move on. 

The camp was vast, far larger than Daine could have expected from what Alanna had told her. It was cunningly hidden, meaning that a few tents were scattered behind a rock, and a few more were in the lee of a cave, and the whole encampment was spread over several miles. It took longer to search than she had hoped, and she couldn’t hide her growing impatience as the bird fluttered from one group of tents to another. 

The bird nearly sped on from one tent before Daine managed to find her voice and said, weakly, _Wait, stop! That... that’s him. That..._

 _I’ll go in then._ The bird said cheerfully, and then paused as it thought about her voice. _Why did you sound odd? You said he wouldn’t hurt us. Why are you sounding scared?_

 _I don’t know._ Daine fought down the rising shivering feeling and looked through the bird’s eyes again. She stared at the shape of the human. He was lying on a bedroll with wide open eyes, staring at the ceiling. 

The passing months had made him thinner and his eyes were over-bright and sunken as if he’d been ill. His hair and clothes were dishevelled as if he no longer cared to spend time on his appearance. The last time Daine had seen him they’d been getting ready to go to one of Hazelle’s parties. He’d looked elegant and strong and his eyes had glowed when he looked at her. Now he looked worn, tired. His cracked lips moved as he stared up at the roof. He raised a hand and tugged fitfully at his nose, gesturing at the ceiling as if he were thinking aloud. 

Daine saw all of this in a glance, and more besides. After so long the sight of him made her want to scream and laugh and cry all at the same time. A map of Galla lay untidily on the floor beside his bed, tattered as if he had poured over it for hours and hours, and in the square inches that made up the valley there were hundreds of tiny crosses and notes in his meticulous scrawl:   
_  
Empty ruin – hiding place?  
Rumours: north of here.   
2 weeks in this tower then moved – east? _

He’s been looking for me, Daine understood in a rush of love and tearful hope, and the bird peeped happily. Once again Daine had to stop it from flying to the human. The creature squawked in frustration.   
_  
What’s wrong?  
_  
Daine didn’t know. She tried to explain: _Maybe I just want to see him too much, but... but something about him feels... feels wrong._

 _Wrong? He feels safe to me._ The bird sauntered through the gap as if he were chasing an earthworm, his voice scolding her. _He feels like you. One of the People. He’s like a bird._

 _Yes._ She whispered, and tried not to think the worst. _That’s what it is. He’s like a bird._

Numair didn’t notice them for a moment, but when the bird pecked at the map his head snapped around so quickly that the sparrow flinched and jumped backwards, yammering. The man’s eyes narrowed and he sat up slowly, rubbing one of his hands as if it were responsible for bringing this bird into his tent.   
_  
He doesn’t look like he’s going to give me seed._ The bird pointed out. Daine mentally shook her head, and then sighed.   
_  
He doesn’t know who I am._ She told it. _I thought I might be able to speak to him, in my mind... but I can’t. I guess I need my body for that._

 _Then what can we do?_ The bird asked. She thought for a moment, and then smiled at the thought of the bird’s natural playfulness.   
_  
Steal his hair tie._ She said. _Look, he’s been running his hands through his hair – it’s nearly fallen out. Go and steal it._

The bird peeped a laugh, and sprang into the air so quickly that Numair gasped and ducked away from it. Before the man could react, the sparrow whisked the leather tie out of his hair and returned to the edge of the tent, holding it triumphantly like a trophy. 

“What...?” Numair breathed, raising his head and staring at the creature incredulously. Daine felt a well of hysterical laughter rippling through her voice when she said,   
_  
Now, give it back. Drop it in his hand._

The bird did. Numair stared at it blankly, his eyes flickering between the tie and the sparrow in wide-eyed amazement. As if he couldn’t possibly believe his own conclusion, he took a breath and whispered one word: “Daine?” 

_Cheep, please?_ Daine asked the bird, and mentally smiled when the little creature willingly erupted into a flurry of excited song. _That’s enough, thank you! I think he understands now._

“Daine,” he repeated, and breathed out rapidly. “Dear gods, Daine...” He rested his head in his hands for a moment, and then looked up, his expression dazed. 

_Does he have food?_ The bird asked. Daine shushed it. __

_You have no sense of timing. Wait._

“Is that actually you, or...” Numair shook his head to clear it and knelt down on the floor, a look of breathless hope crossing his face. He peered closely at the bird for a moment, and then his mouth twisted ruefully and he shook his head. “No, it’s not, is it? It’s like the cat.” 

The bird nodded, the gesture both awkward and playful. The mage forced himself to smile. He held out a hand, and after a moment’s persuasion from both him and the voice in its head, the sparrow hopped into his palm. 

“Where are you, Daine? Where did they take you?” He demanded. Daine made the sparrow shake its head and the man seemed to shrink back. Even his voice grew quieter. “You don’t know either, huh?” 

_You’re near my nest._ The sparrow offered helpfully. _Behind that barred window._

 _He already knows about the bars,_ Daine sighed, _And I don’t think he knows where you live any more than I do. It’s difficult to see when I’m too close to my real body._

“Then I’ll keep searching, I promise.” Numair said softly, pushing back his own disappointment. He gently stroked the sparrow’s head. If the gesture was loving, his next words were typically academic, and Daine almost told the bird to peck him for being so annoyingly logical. 

“If it’s like the cat,” he said after a moment, “Then how are you doing this? And don’t tell me ‘safely’, sweet, because I know that’s a lie.”

 _What should I do?_ The bird whispered at her, feeling her hesitation. She thought rapidly, and then just told the sparrow to shrug. It would be an infuriating answer, but then, she thought, the question was fair stupid, too. It wasn’t like it mattered. What was important was that she was here, not how she had done it! 

“Then you should go back.” He told her matter-of-factly, “Before you lose yourself.” 

The bird made a rude sound and hopped away from the human, shrugging again for good measure. Daine let the creature play out its pantomime, distracted by looking at Numair’s reaction. He unconsciously wrapped his hand around the wrist where the bird had sat and stared at it, his expression torn between worry and relief. 

_Stop._ She told the bird, feeling her heart twist. _I can’t bear it. Go to him. Please._

The bird froze, and then ducked its head in something close to an apology, returning to the man’s hand when he timidly held it out, and even brushing its head affectionately against his thumb before cheeping quietly. 

“I miss you so much.” He said, his voice cracking on the simple words. 

The bird was asking for a reply when the girl was torn from its mind in a sudden whirl of pain. In a blind panic, the sparrow fled from the human into the night.


	44. Possession 2

Daine started writing messages onto tiny scraps of cloth. 

She begged the birds and the bats to fly into her room to collect them. She forbade them from picking up any replies. After the birds deliberately dropped the notes into the fire in front of Alanna or Numair, the Tortallans realised the risk they were asking Daine to take and stopped trying to write. Instead, they spoke to the birds. Conversations that would take a few minutes face to face took days of careful planning. 

Daine didn’t dare to fly out more than once or twice a week, waiting for nights when Orsille was too distracted to wonder what her blank eyes were actually seeing. One night she saw his sharp gaze fixed suspiciously on her just as her mind was searching out the birds, and she dragged herself back so quickly it made her dizzy. She was too scared to use her magic for nearly a week after that. 

Instead, Daine wrote notes and trusted the birds to fly without her eyes. She told her friends how scared the officials had seemed when she had been among them, and the kind of things she’d overheard in the few short weeks she’d spent as a servant.   
Then, trapped in her silent stone cage, she ran out of things to tell them. In their turn, neither of the Tortallans told her much about their plans. After a few confused days Daine realised that it was because they knew she would be tortured. She understood and was grateful not to have anything to hide from Orsille, but the forced ignorance left her reeling in frustration. Even though she knew they were planning attacks and sending spies into the valley, everything seemed very far away.

So, Instead of hearing about their plans from her friends, she only knew what was happening outside of her cage through the things Orsille told her. 

At first the man enjoyed keeping secrets, knowing that being completely cut off from the world was agonising for a girl who couldn’t even see out of the window. He mocked her with her crimes and with questions about her past but he refused to speak about the war. His tongue was not quite so well guarded, though, when he was caught up in the throes of his passions. One night he stormed through the door and shoved her against the stone wall, savagely spitting out a strange word with every vicious motion. When he finally snarled out his release he threw Daine to the ground, his eyes so blinded with anger that he barely saw her fall. 

“That bitch!” He spat, his wrath now sated into petty curses. “She thinks she can lecture me? His high-and-mightiness sends her here to check on things, and she thinks she’s in charge? Well, I’ve been in charge of this valley for far longer than she’s been licking his…” 

“It’s…it’s someone’s _name?”_ Daine whispered. He stopped shouting mid-sentence and stared at her. 

“Ye-es.” He formed the word slowly, suspiciously, and then looked at his slave as if he were seeing her for the first time.   
The girl struggled to stand upright, he noticed, and she’d been locked in the darkness for so long that her new bruises were livid against her fish-white flesh. The wolf he had captured had decayed into a newt, skulking in the filth where it belonged. He barked out a half laugh at that vivid thought and planted his hands on his hips. Anger forgotten, he watched her fight to raise her head with the same detached amusement that he would get from watching a stray dog. 

“Who are you going to tell?” He jeered. When she couldn’t find her voice to reply he chucked her under the chin, giggling inanely at the way the creature flinched away and hissed at him. 

“Poor little wolf cub.” He said dismissively, and then he had turned on his heel and left. 

After that night Orsille started talking to her. Daine listened in sickened silence, realising how immense and complete this man’s power was. He barely had to answer for anything. She had thought… hoped, even… that someone would find out that an official had locked away a valuable hostage for his own selfish reasons.

She daydreamed about Orsille being punished. She fantasised about being set free, even if it was just to peel potatoes again. At least she could do that in the daylight. But the more Orsille confided in her, the less she hoped. He answered to the king, of course, but other than that he was the one who owned and controlled both forts like a malevolent god. No-one would be telling him off for hiding away a slave. 

Daine hoarded his secrets like gems, and took especial pleasure in telling Alanna things which Orsille boasted about. He thought they made him invincible. Whenever he returned a few days later in a foul mood, his secret troops discovered or his clever ambush outwitted, the girl had to hide her smile. She listened carefully to everything he told her, and she wrote the most important things onto scraps of her green dress. 

Every night after the official left her she blindly scraped her fingers through the dead ash of the ancient fireplace until they found a dry black charcoal chip. Under cover of darkness, where no spying spell could see her, she struggled for hours to write legibly with the tiny chip shaking in her frozen, swollen fingers. The birds carried the notes away with the dawn, and she prayed to whatever god might be listening that some of the news, at least, would reach her friends. 

And then she would sleep – a black, dreamless haven – until the setting sun brought Orsille back to her.

Those were her days. 

And soon, that was her life. 

Long, endless weeks of blind hope and hopeless enslavement passed until Daine began to think that all she had ever known was Orsille. She knew his cheerful moods better than she could remember her own. She studied his expressions with the same fierce desperation that she listened to his stories with. It was for the same reason: any slip, any weakness, could be the difference between this life and her freedom.

Her life. Endless stories. 

Numair had told stories. Hadn’t he?

Orsille told her stories. 

Usually his tales were told with a slight smile. He crowed about catching and executing a Tortallan spy, or torturing a Gallan farmhand until he surrendered the position of one of the many camps of Tortallan soldiers in the pass. Lord Orsille enjoyed watching his slave closely, linking his arm through her own like a lover and studying her face as she tried not to react. If she even shivered at hearing how the Tortallans had been slaughtered in a skirmish then he would twist her wrist like rope. 

“Your friends will be so pleased,” he told her one night when she had kept perfectly blank throughout the whole grisly list, “that you’re starting to see things my way. Perhaps I should tell them, hm?” 

“Do it! Then they’d know where I am. They’d know you’re… you’re the one who has me.” She stumbled over the words, biting her lip. She had nearly betrayed her secret – that she knew her friends were still looking for her. She barely dared to look up at her captor, but when she did his eyes had creased at the corners in inexplicable amusement. When he left her he hummed cheerfully to himself. 

Staying silent against his gibes was not an option. She had to answer. She had refused to speak in the first few days but Orsille’s temper had flared at her silence. For three days he carried neither water nor food to her. On the fourth day he had crept into the room on softer feet, and Daine could not find the strength to raise her head from the carpet and look at him. She could _smell,_ though: the beautiful clean, crisp scent of rainwater. 

A hand had gripped her shoulder and pulled her upright. There was Orsille, of course, drawing her up against him and wrapping one arm tenderly around her shoulders. She lolled against his chest, too dizzy to see straight, and had felt his sharp-nailed hand running through her hair. 

“You’re dying.” He murmured, and kissed her temple with genuine affection. “How does it feel to die? I’m curious. Tell me, wolf cub.” 

She had forced her gummed eyes open and stared at him, mutely revolted by the casual way he had brought her to this. Her throat ached and her eyes burned, and her skin was coarse and cracked wherever it moved. The scent of the rainwater was agonising, and she could see the pitcher now. It was just beyond the realm of her chain. Just out of reach. 

“And you shall have some.” Orsille promised her in his most compassionate voice, “Just as soon as you speak, my dear. Tell me what dying feels like.” 

She closed her eyes, feeling mortification pool in her empty stomach like bitter acid. Her mouth was so swollen with thirst she could barely open it, and her words were so hoarse that they sounded like they’d been dug up in some ancient ruin. 

“I’m… tired…” she rasped, and hated the triumphant smirk which blazed across her captor’s face. He scooped up a handful of water and held it out to her. She drank it with such violent thirst that she didn’t care about how much she was demeaning herself. He grinned and brought her handful after handful of water, and Daine wept dry tears at the sweet way the liquid soothed her lips. 

“Two weeks.” Orsille said to himself, and ran his damp hands through her hair. She didn’t look at him, and he saw how she was fighting back humiliated disgust at her surrender. He grinned and kissed the crown of her head. “It only took me two weeks to get you eating out of the palm of my hand, little wolf cub.” 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” She croaked, and he could hear black fury crackling in her words. He had laughed and snapped one of the few laces that still tied on her overdress. 

“Since you ask…” he drawled, and shoved her face-downwards onto the floor. 

Had she only been caged for two weeks? Daine’s mind whirled and she couldn’t quite remember how long she’d been here. Two weeks of silence. 

Then it was another month before Orsille confided in her, and another week before she found Numair. The battles had begun by then, and there were weeks of vile stories. 

Who knew how time crept past? If her stomach hadn’t kept swelling she would have thought time had abandoned her forever. 

Until the night which changed everything.


	45. Possession 3

Orsile burst into Daine’s cell in a red haze of anger. Words had spilled out of him unheeded. There were more words, more names, than he had ever volunteered before. Daine tried not to let her interest show on her face as he ranted about a group of soldiers who had intercepted one of the spies he had sent into Tortall. 

It had been a mage – an older woman who had been promised freedom if she managed to plant a listening spell in the tents of the knights and captains. As soon as the woman was away from the valley, it seemed, she had raised her hands and walked down the pass in full view, surrendering to the baffled scouts who saw her coming. That had been the last any of the Gallans had seen of her. 

“Traitorous bitch!” Orsille raged, screwing up the note that he still held in his skeletal hand. Daine watched in silence, fascinated by his lack of control. He threw the note into the fireplace, cast a vicious haze of mage fire after it, and spat onto the ashes for good measure. The hiss of evaporating spittle underlined his petulant hiss: “How dare she!” 

“Why are you surprised?” Daine asked, not able to stop herself from smiling. She rested her cheek on one hand and grinned at him, openly enjoying his fury. “Did you really think she’d trust you? We all know that you see us as cattle. Your idea of freedom is just... expecting us to mill around after you until you send us off to die. She saw her chance to escape and took it. And so will all the others.”

“She hasn’t escaped.” Orsille’s voice was dangerous. “She still has her chain. I will make an example of her. The others don’t have to trust me. They can fear me. Every single one who rebels against me will share in her pain, I swear it.”

Daine blinked at that and curled her fingers around her own chain, feeling the charms beat against her wrist. She knew the trick the official was going to use. A few people had escaped, in the years she had been imprisoned, and the result was always the same. 

The officials gathered everyone, and said a few words, and every prisoner screamed and clutched their arms as their chains grew red hot, burning lines of blisters into their skin. The officials would snap their fingers, and the pain would stop. Over the chorus of whimpers and moans, they would calmly tell the mages that the chain the escaped prisoner wore was still burning. It would keep burning until the mage’s blood boiled, and their skin withered, and they burst into flames. 

“It’s a better death.” Daine said, and her words were so gentle that Orsille stopped pacing and stared at her. She barely seemed to notice, as she turned the links of her chain over in her fingertips. “She chose it herself. That’s her freedom. I’m happy for her.” 

She looked up then, and there was a curious peacefulness in her grey eyes. “Punishing everyone else for it won’t make them afraid of you, Orsille. It will just make them hate you. It will make you weaker.”

“Weaker.” He echoed the word in a black tone, and she nodded. 

“We all know you’re mortal.” She said, and smiled wolfishly. “And now we know you’re afraid of us.” 

“I am afraid of nothing.” He reached forward to grab her by the collar, raising her up to meet his eyes, and dropped her heavily to the ground when she simply laughed in his face. 

“Yes you are!” She giggled, “You’re terrified!” 

He kicked her sharply, feeling only fury at her cry of pain and then hearing a roaring in his ears when she started laughing again. She shouldn’t be laughing. She should be cowering, frightened, broken. His outrage at the escaped mage and her laughter fused in his mind, and he struck out in a blind haze of absolute madness. It was only when the sun set and he couldn’t see any more that some of the fire cleared, and he wondered if the bitch was dead. She was silent, unconscious, but when he lowered his hand to her face he felt her breathe shallowly. 

“You’re lucky.” He told her. 

Orsille reeled as he stood upright. When he scrubbed his face with one shaking hand it came away covered in greasy sweat and spittle, and his eyes stung with saltwater. It was impossible to collect his thoughts. He’d never snapped like that before, and not being able to see into the black blur of his memories was unsettling. 

He twitched and clutched his arms around himself for a moment. Blinking frantically would not clear the stubborn spots from his eyes any more than he could stop his heart from racing. 

“You deserved it.” He told the unconscious girl, but there was less certainty in his rough voice. 

He scrubbed at his puling forehead again. Looking at her made something curl up in his stomach. He couldn’t recognise the emotion at all. He just knew that it was wrong. Normally his eyes would linger over her bruises as comforting dark pleasure pooled in his veins, but his heart still raced and for some reason he couldn’t look at her at all. If she opened those sharp, mocking eyes again he knew he would have to kill the girl before she would look away. 

He looked around and built up the fire, not looking at the girl until his mind stopped racing. The wash of anger eventually left a cold emptiness in his stomach, and he sat beside the blaze for a moment, staring at it. Then he pressed his hand to the girl’s stomach in a petulant haste, casting a flood of healing magic through her body and striding from the room in four rapid steps. The door slammed behind him.   
Daine struggled back to consciousness, dragged awake by the pull of the gift, and rolled painfully onto her side. She sighed in relief when she heard his quick footfalls fading into the distance. 

_He’s weak,_ she thought. She lowered her hands to her stomach and marvelled at the odd tingle of healing magic dancing across her fingers. _He can be pushed to the edge. It works._

She didn’t tell Numair, though. Of all the notes she could write, one that declared her plan to antagonise Orsille would be the most foolish. That night she settled for a rather ambiguous note, writing clumsily with stiff and bruised fingers: _The leader has a weakness. I think I can use it._

Alanna and Numair passed the note to each other and then stared at the bird. A cautious look passed between the two humans before they nodded.

“Don’t put yourself in danger, Daine.” Alanna said, her words careful. “I know things are bad for you, but... you’re a hostage. They won’t kill you, not if you don’t provoke them. We’re doing plenty out here, you know. We're doing everything we can for you. Just wait.” 

Numair’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to say something before the lady knight sharply jabbed her elbow into his ribs and shook her head. He scowled, but closed his mouth with a snap and folded his arms. 

Daine sighed and nodded that she understood – once again, they couldn’t tell her their plans. She knew that Alanna had to put the safety of Tortall before the rescue of one Gallan girl, but she couldn’t help feeling hurt that not one of the hundreds of soldiers could be sent to help try to find her. When the bird looked up at Numair, Daine saw her own helpless anger clearly echoed in his eyes. 

The sight made her shiver. She still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with him, despite every single sparrow warming to him instantly. It was as they said: he was like a bird. Only Daine realised what that fact meant for him as a human. 

Orsille arrived earlier than usual the next day, and the girl pressed herself into the corner and watched him with silent, wary eyes. He looked unsure of himself - almost ashamed. Kneeling beside the fireplace, he drew some hardwood logs from the basket he’d brought up and used his magic to light a warm, bright fire. Daine shivered in her corner and her eyes flicked longingly to the heat. The spring rains had been lashing against the window with a vengeance, and she couldn’t remember how it felt to touch something that wasn’t damp, cold and clammy. 

“Come here.” The man ordered her, and Daine moved forward with a combination of reluctance and need. He glanced up at her, rolled his eyes at her nervousness and shifted back so she could sit beside the fire without touching him. When she cautiously knelt down beside the blaze he handed her something else from the basket – a piece of roasted chicken, wrapped in a fragrant, seasoned cabbage leaf and still warm from the oven. She stared at him wide-eyed for a second and then fell on the meat in starving glee. 

This, she realised as she slowly finished the food and licked grease from her fingers, was his way of apologising. For all of his viciousness he didn’t want to kill her. What had happened had been an accident, and one which the man couldn’t even justify to himself. She threw the bone into the fire and looked at him, seeing him with new eyes as she recognised the half-shame on his otherwise placid face. 

“We’re at a strange pass, you and I.” He understood her expression, and there was a glint of self-mockery in his words. Daine nodded and looked at the fire, not sure how to respond. This truce was doubtless as fragile as glass. 

“Why… why do you keep me here?” She asked him one of the questions that had been burning in her mind. Her voice was softer than he had ever heard it. “Why lock me away? I’d be just as much your prisoner if you made me work in the kitchens or in the farms.”

“Because I chose to. But perhaps I was wrong.” He tilted his head to one side and his eyes narrowed speculatively. For the first time he spoke to her as an equal. “I thought I could possess every part of you. Everything that was stolen from me when you ran away would be returned to me. No man has ever stolen from me before. I swore I would take it back. Not just my slave, but every tear my daughter shed over him and every drop of blood which he spilled from my men. I thought I would return the favour.”

“And… did you? Have you?” She breathed, wondering if he might actually be thinking about letting her go. It would explain why he was suddenly acting so strangely. He sighed and waved his hand at the fire, nudging the logs into better stacks with his gift. 

“Not yet.” He looked up at her and his eyes held an odd kind of frank honesty Daine hadn’t seen before. “You’ve repaid your own debt. You can’t help your vile nature. But his debt? For every scrap of vengeance I get over that man I think of a hundred other reasons to loathe the man. You submit to me now, but he still fights me. Hundreds of my soldiers have fallen to his blasted Gift, and hundreds more are afraid of that madness that crawls through his mind. Hundreds, girl, and each deserter demands repayment . I keep you here because it’s impossible for you to give me what I want – at least while that bastard is out there. You can thank him for all this. But regardless… there is still a debt owing, and so you will stay here.”

A small voice at the back of her mind knew what he was doing. He was trying to make her blame Numair for her imprisonment. But the girl heard it another way. The war, for Daine, was being fought between Orsille and Numair. The rest of it didn’t matter to her. It was only when one or other of those two men had triumphed that her own future would be decided. She was a prize for the victor, whoever he happened to be. In the meantime she was supposed to wait while Numair and Orsille played out their stupid battles. 

She suddenly, violently, wanted nothing to do with it – no more spying, no more writing notes, no more baiting. She could be selfish. She deserved that. She didn’t want anyone to win or lose the war, she just wanted to get out of her cage. 

With Orsille as her jailor that was impossible. She would be here until the war ended, and that was that. He was telling her that she was repaying some debt to be cruel, not to be sympathetic or to explain why he was such a monster to her. 

“I don’t understand what else you want.” She said, and rested her cheek on her folded knees to gaze into the flames. Her words were bitter. “There’s nothing you haven’t taken from me. There’s nothing left.” 

“No.” He reached out and patted her knee. There was little tenderness within the man, but for once his hands felt less like claws and more like a caress. “There is. I can see it.” 

“There’s nothing else.” She repeated, and felt her eyes well up with tears as she pulled away from a comfort that she desperately needed, but from anyone else but this man. “Nothing. I have nothing left.”

“Oh, my sweet little wolf cub,” he sighed, and wrapped warm arms around her. “Don’t you know you have everything that you ever deserved?” 

For the first time she felt that he might be reasoned with, pleaded with, and she clutched at his back with shaking hands. “Please, please…” she whispered. “Please… if you want anything from me you can have it. Just let me go back to the kitchen. Don’t keep me here. You can take whatever you want. You can… you can have whatever you want. I’ll do any disgusting thing you ask. Just let me see the sky again.”   
His voice rumbled in his chest and she realised he was laughing. “You don’t deserve that.” 

She sobbed aloud then and he made a tutting sound, rocking her in his embrace. “Ssh, ssh now you silly child. If you start crying I’ll get angry again.” 

The girl couldn’t help it. With his warm arms holding her so gently it was easy to imagine herself in Numair’s embrace, being comforted after so many hopeless weeks. Orsille wasn’t Numair; he was as far from the man she loved as night from day, and yet he was the only one who held her when she needed some fragment of human kindness. She buried her face in his shoulder and held him tightly, shaking with the effort of biting back her sobs. 

Orsille stroked her hair for a moment, and then his hand stilled and he raised her chin to meet her eyes. What he saw there made his amused expression darken, and he pushed her back. 

“Don’t pretend I’m _him._ ” He snarled, and shoved her sprawling away from the comfort of the fire. The damp stone ceiling dripped cold water on her bare feet. He seized her ragged sleeve and dragged her back, his nails ragged and sharp. Daine kicked at him and yanked herself away, pressing her back against the manacle in the wall. 

“Pretend you’re him?” She mimicked, and laughed hysterically. She raised a shaking hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “As if you could ever be half the man he is. I’d sooner compare you to a… a rat.”

“A rat would have more value than that creature.” The official snapped, and there was something cloying in the words, as if they were rotting before he could even speak them. “I won’t be compared with that murderer. Gods, of course he had you. You threw yourself at the only creature on this earth that’s lower than you.” 

“I love him.” Her temper flared. Although she clutched fearfully at her chain with whitened knuckles her words were more forceful than he’d ever heard. “However much you hate us, what you think doesn’t matter to me. Not one bit.”

“Then you’re a fool.” He said, and his words were suddenly very distant. She shook her head stubbornly and then realisation hit her like a tide of cold water. She giggled and looked up. 

“That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what you can’t have. You can’t take that away from me. My love and my memories… you can’t touch them.”

“Who would want them?” He scoffed the words but there was something defensive, guarded in his tone. Daine rounded on him, taunting him with the one thing she still possessed, and she saw him whiten. She spoke with dark, vicious pleasure. 

“You can hurt every part of me except my heart, because it’s not locked up in this room. I gave it to him. You’ll never be able to reach it.” 

“How touching.” He sneered, recovering some of his normal sarcastic humour as he looked at her. There was something approving in his voice. “My little cub has learned how to bite. And such a passionate performance! Very well: I’ll let you keep your mewling love for the Hawk Mage. It’s just such a shame he doesn’t love you back.”

“He _does_ … “ Daine tripped over her retort, blinked at the certainty in his voice, and knew that the apparently empty gibe had something cruel lurking within it. “Why do you…?” 

“He didn’t make the deal, my petal!” The man crowed, and handed out a handkerchief to her. She stared at it blankly, and he waved the scented fabric grandly before her. “’Tis enough to spring tears from a barren brook! As soon as they replied I had to rush and tell you, darling girl, and hope the warmth of the fire would be enough to dry your eyes. All I asked was one little retreat. One troop of soldiers sent back to Tortall… one hundred men out of one thousand, my dear. One pass cleared for my men to reclaim, and your disgusting lover could have crushed you in his wings once more! But they refused.”

Daine told herself he was lying, but she whitened. She instinctively believed that it could be true. Alanna was too cunning a strategist simply to surrender land, and now the snows were melting some of the passes would be invaluable. They would have known how important the pass must be to Orsille if he was prepared to trade hostages for it. They would have had to refuse. To give their enemy valuable land before a battle would be a deadly error. 

But now, looking at the official’s mocking face, Daine knew that the pass was probably worthless. He had tricked the Tortallans into bartering over fruitless soil, and now he could crow over how they refused to surrender so little for their friend. 

Still, either story made her throat close up. They would have argued, she knew, and one of them would have had to back down. She remembered Numair’s folded arms, Alanna’s scowl as she forced him to be silent. Why wouldn’t Numair fight to the bitter end? Either there was something very wrong with him or Orsille was right. Numair had forced her to stay in this vile place for a small strategic advantage.

She looked up at the official and could see no lie written on his face. He knew she would spot a lie. He knew she would want it to be a lie, and so he attacked her with the truth. 

Whether or not it had been a trick, her friends had been given the chance to save her and they had turned it down. _Numair_ had turned it down. She was worth less to them… to _him_ … than a pathetic patch of frozen wasteland. 

A hand gently brushed her cheek and then she felt Orsille’s fleshy lips pressing against her skin, tasting the salt of her tears. She hadn’t even realised she was crying. 

“You see?” He murmured, “I can hurt your heart, after all.”


	46. Possession 4

Numair flinched when he read the note and stared wildly at the bird. He was tempted for a moment to walk away, to stride out of the tent and refuse to respond to the message. But then he looked at the tiny, fragile creature and wondered for the hundredth time how Daine was looking through its eyes. However she was doing it, it must be difficult and dangerous for her. He owed her an answer at least. 

He looked at the note again. Usually Daine wrote in carefully shaped words, but this one was scrawled so forcefully that at one point the charcoal had snapped, leaving a black blotch on the cloth. _How important is the valley you sold me for?_

“How did you find out?” Numair choked out, and had to clap his hands over his ears when every bird in the camp screamed simultaneously. The soldiers would think they were possessed by some demon. In a way, they were. Possessed by a roar of mindless copper fire, every single creature in the camp, from cats to stallions, was radiating pure fury – and it was all aimed at Numair. 

“It was Alanna’s choice.” He whispered. “I tried to change her mind but she won’t listen to me. She said that they won’t hurt a hostage so she won’t gamble hundreds of men’s lives on your freedom.” 

The bird squawked furiously and flew away. A few minutes later it returned with a second note. Numair took it with numb surprise; normally only one note appeared each night. 

_They won’t kill a hostage. There’s a difference. You know what they’re like. _

Then a second bird appeared with another:

_If you weren’t so busy being the hawk you could have told her that yourself. _

Then:

_I love you Numair but right now I hate you._

“I don’t blame you.” He muttered, not knowing which bird to direct his apology to. He felt sick, knowing he couldn’t explain himself, knowing how hurt and betrayed she must be feeling. She hadn’t told them anything about the way she was being treated before now. He’d suspected it was on purpose – she wouldn’t think it was important. But now her furious notes painted a picture that was bleak, closer to his own tortured imagination than Alanna’s chivalrous logic. 

“I’m trying to help you.” He said. 

A screech. The birds disagreed. 

“Did you want to hear the answer to your question, Daine, or did you come here to yell at me?” Numair said a little sharply. They banked their wings and perched together on the edge of his pack. Every single feather on their backs was ruffled, and from outside Numair could hear the sounds of the horses kicking fitfully at their tethers. The birds were silent, though, and he made himself calm down. 

“You know about the valley... do you want to know the rest of it?”

The birds nodded without a second’s hesitation, and their black eyes never looked away. It was like being held on trial before a court. Numair shuddered and spread his hands open in an honest gesture. 

“Alanna wouldn’t let me do anything – she’s so set on winning the war that she didn’t want me to take any risks. For the first weeks we were camped here I disobeyed that order. Every night I sneaked out and flew through the valley looking for you. I asked every official I could find and… and they told me what happened at Hazelle’s. The hawk… it consumed my anger and the revenge I took on them like a glutton. It got so much stronger so quickly that Alanna noticed, and she made me choose between the Hawk or being with the army. I chose the army. I didn’t chose it over you, sweetheart, but because of you. We need allies, Daine. On my own I could make far more trouble, but all it would take is one lucky arrow and then no-one would be thinking about you at all when they invade that keep.” 

He rubbed his temples with icy fingertips and stared up at the ceiling where one of the birds was circling fitfully. “So now I’m here and… and I’m working with the soldiers. I’m fighting in their battles and we’re planning… well, I can’t tell you what we’re doing, sweetling, but I swear it will help you.” 

The birds all glared glassily at him for a long moment, and then as one they took wing. 

For nearly a fortnight there were no more messages. No notes, no birds. Nothing. 

888

 _Fly._ Daine ordered the bird. _Just fly._

It did, playing in the warm air currents and snatching up insects in the evening light. After a while it forgot that it even had a magical passenger in its mind and returned to dance with the rest of the flock. Daine let it circle aimlessly, taking little pleasure in it, and worried at her thoughts like a loose tooth. 

She couldn’t feel anything. Her first surge of anger was gone, and so was the sense of betrayal. When they had screamed out of her heart they seemed to have taken away any other feeling, too. She felt completely numb. She dissected the sensation curiously. 

No, she was wrong. The feelings were still there. 

There was not a space where feelings had been erased, but there was a barrier which held them back. Numair and the Wolf were both caged inside Daine’s heart, and as much as they beat at their walls she refused to free them. Both of them had hurt her too much. If she let them out they would hurt her again. She looked at them blankly and then turned away.

For the next week Daine felt absolutely nothing.

Then the baby kicked for the first time. She gasped aloud and couldn’t help pressing a hand to her stomach. She could barely believe it, and when the strange shock happened a second time a smile brightened her face for the first time in weeks. 

Orsille woke up at her unbidden movement and his arms snaked around her middle; his beard tickling her ear as he murmured, “Something to tell me, petal?”

“It’s…” she answered breathlessly, and then turned to look at him. “Please, let me be happy. Just this once. My baby, it…” 

“Ah.” He smiled indulgently and pressed his hand over hers. She disliked the action, but it was at least gentle. Since he nearly killed her Orsille had been a lot less vicious, except when he was angry. Tonight he was nearly amiable. 

“It’s kicking. It’s the first time it’s done that,” she whispered, and her heart felt so choked with happiness that she just had to share it. He smiled. 

“It’s a good sign. A good time for it, too. I’ll light some incense to the Mother for you, if you like.” 

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he kissed her cheek lightly before settling back down again. Daine thought that he had fallen back asleep until, long minutes later, he spoke. 

“Do you think it has magic? Can you tell?” 

“N-no, I don’t know how to do that.” 

“Pity.” His hand circled her stomach lightly. “Still, you have magic, and so does the Hawk Mage. So it’s got a good chance.”

“Mm.” She made a noncommittal sound. He continued, 

“And of course, if it is ungifted you can always try again. There are plenty of other strong mages around, after all.” 

He rolled his eyes at her gasp and explained, “When we win this war, wolf cub, we’ll need more mages to keep us strong, won’t we? I can’t trust all the powerful ones to go mad and murderous. I don’t know why I didn’t think of breeding you all before now. It’s a terrible oversight on my part, my dear. You’re so clever to make me think of it.” 

She stared at him for a long moment. “You couldn’t let me have even one moment of happiness, could you? Not one second. I bet you used to pull the wings off butterflies, too.” 

He laughed, looking more flattered than put out by her outburst. “Don’t be like that, dearest. Do you want me to tell you how proud I am of you? Who would have thought my little murderess would make such a doting mother…” 

Daine couldn’t hear a single insincere note in his voice. It was, frankly, unsettling. Then she remembered the way he adored his own daughter, the spoiled Karenna who had ‘only child’ written so clearly on her face it might as well have been a Banjiku tattoo. Orsille had never brought his wife to a single one of Hazelle’s parties. People said that Lady Orsille was a recluse, or that her husband kept her tucked away at home. 

There was a story there, Daine thought, some great bitterness which went back for decades. A sorrow which made him loathe women but fiercely protect his one daughter – a useless female heir. Instead of sons he had built a legacy of mages around his empty hearth. He still had his hand pressed to her stomach but his mocking voice had rumbled away to nothing. 

“So what’s your plan?” She made herself sound bored of the whole thing “Take a few charms away and keep us mages locked up here like breeding stock until the day we die?” 

“Not you, little wolf cub.” He laughed and his arms tightened around her. “You’re going to come to Corus with me. To the delegations and negotiations and all the courtly events after my army overpowers that upstart Conte with his shiny Jewel. I wouldn’t dream of facing the Hawk and his friends without you by my side. Do you want to see Tortall, my petal?”

“Yes.” She answered him in a dead voice. He stroked her hair back from her temples and then his hand rested again on her stomach. 

“Good. Then you’ll stay with me, and don’t worry about your brat. Gifted or not, it will only ever be a slave.” He kissed her suddenly, the first time he had ever kissed her mouth, and when she gasped and dragged herself away his voice grew rich with dark promise. “ _Our_ sons will be _kings.”_

“You’re mad,” she stared at him in pure horror. “You really are.” 

“No.” He shook his head and reached for her greedily. “I’ve just never been afraid to take what I want.” 

It was a reflex: a movement that was over before she had time to think about it. Daine thought she had only slapped him, but when she drew her hand back she felt wetness on her fingers. She gulped and looked down, seeing the blood that dripped from the long wolf claws which had burst from her fingertips. 

Orsille cursed and held a hand to his cheek. The glow of his healing magic started, but not before hot blood bubbled up between his fingers and dripped onto the carpet. For the first time Daine saw real pain in his eyes, and when he looked up at her his pupils were furious pinpricks in bright blue orbs. 

“You _should_ be afraid.” She spat the words, shaking. His eyes narrowed even further and then she was laughing, shrieks of laughter that made her stomach ache and tears spring from her eyes. The claws shrank away when she wiped her cheeks, but she couldn’t stop laughing. 

“My happiness!” She giggled, “I got it back!” 

“Cherish it. I swear to you that it is the last pleasure you will ever feel.” Orsille hissed, and this time when he seized her she had no defence. Her hysteria turning into fear and anger, Daine called for the birds.

 _Are you alright?_ One of them asked, able to feel the burning emotion welling up inside its passenger’s mind. 

Daine said: _I need your help. All the People. I’m going to kill him._

 _Now?_ The bird banked its wings and fluttered for a moment in a breeze. _Good! Then I’ll take you to your humans._

 _No!_ Even Daine was shocked by the violence of the thought. Alongside her fear of her own magic and her disgust at Orsille had roared back her other emotions. They were thick and cloying like oil. The thought of facing the writhing anger and love that Numair had shaped in her mind made her feel even worse. She bit back her fury and made herself think sensibly. 

_No._ She repeated slowly. _We plan. We talk to the People. We don’t tell the humans and we don’t ask for their help. They won’t help us. We’re on our own. And I swear by all the dark gods beneath that even on my own, I will make that man suffer. _


	47. Possession 5

Numair showed Daine’s notes to Alanna. The knight was deeply sympathetic but it didn’t make her change her mind. Numair was to keep working on the tunnels with Rain, and any other activities were strictly forbidden. Numair grit his teeth and kept tunnelling, wishing that the savage laughter would return so something would distract him from his worrying. He had no idea whether Daine was being silent because she was badly hurt or furious. She might even be dead. 

Weeks passed and there was absolutely no word from her. Numair watched the skies, and noticed something very odd. The birds no longer flew in aimless flocks as they used to. Instead, they skimmed across the valley with clear purpose, not stopping to scoop up insects but making lines across the valley. They perched on the heads of horses and sat still there as the horse flicked its ears, or they sang out merrily to animals that they saw in the woods. Over the next few weeks, scores of animals seemed to make friends with one another and then dart away from the camp towards the forts. 

Numair had absolutely no doubt that Daine was behind it. He just had no idea why, or how. He also knew that she must be mobilizing the creatures near the camp deliberately, showing him that she could easily reach the camp and then refusing to speak or send any word. At least she wasn’t dead. He felt the punishment keenly and accepted it as his due, but he couldn’t help staring impatiently at the birds every night and cursing when they made their silent flight back to their nests. 

He nearly laughed out loud when a tiny starling finally flew into his tent and perched on the end of the bedroll. She had forgiven him, or at least she was willing to talk again. 

“I hope you’re well,” Numair managed to croak. He looked around at the starling, which ruffled its feathers and tilted its head to one side. Despite himself a humourless laugh burst from his lips, and he smothered it with one hand. “Gods, what a stupid thing for me to say! I know you’re not. But I… I pray that things aren’t as bad as…” He swallowed and stopped babbling. “I’m sorry, I know you’ve been angry but I’ve been so worried about you.” 

_Worry won’t help. They heal me._ Her first note in weeks read a little curtly. 

Numair read it with narrowed eyes, and then he asked the question which the conscious mind behind the bird’s eyes had been dreading for weeks, “Why are they healing you? They never did that before. Tell me why, sweetheart.”

The reply was written in a rushed hand, but the words were hesitantly thought out: _I made a bargain. No choice. Obedience in exchange for protection for our baby._

Numair took a sharp breath when he read the note, and the bird cheeped and fluttered in panic at the human’s unbidden motion. The sharp intelligence behind its eyes quietened it, and after a long moment seemed to convince the tiny sparrow to flutter up to the human and perch gently on his wrist. He blinked at it, and stopped his harsh laugh before he could scare the creature away entirely. 

“I suspected you might be pregnant.” He said quietly, “Well, I… I even hoped. Doesn’t that seem selfish, now? But I did. And I can’t… how can I explain how I feel?” He did laugh then, an oddly hopeless sound. “Daine, if you were here I would kiss you and laugh and smile and I would hold you close, and I would never want to let you go. But you’re not. You’re alone, and I know everything that you’re not telling me, about what they’re doing to you. We’ll be making the final attack in a few weeks, sweetling, and Alanna talks about it like we’re rushing! But… a few weeks, when it’s already been months…” 

The bird peeped softly, and rested its satiny head against his thumb for a second. He stared at it, and seemed to come to a decision. 

“I’ll surrender to them,” he said with ferocious determination in his eyes. “Gods curse it, but I should have done it months ago. I know now that if I stay here Alanna won’t let me do a single thing to free you. I’ll never be able to change her mind. Compared to the war you’re just not important to her. Even when she saw your notes, Daine, she wouldn’t have any pity.” 

The bird started and then screamed at him, and he shook his head. “I decided this weeks ago , Daine. Alanna didn’t want me to tell you, but I killed most of those officials I found – all the ones we met at Hazelle’s, although there are dozens more in the keeps. They wouldn’t tell me anything. But if they take me prisoner then maybe they’ll start bragging and tell me where they’ve hidden you. I can find you and then together we will burn their damned keeps down around their ears. Yes, I’ll surrender. Two people on the inside are better than one.” 

A harsh croak came from the bird, and it fluttered its wings at him frantically. Numair scowled, understanding the argument instinctively. “No, you don’t understand. They won’t kill me. They’ll need every mage they can get to fight Alanna, and they know it.” 

The bird made an odd noise, and the man waved a hand in an empty gesture. “No, I don’t mean I want to fight Alanna, or that I will. But... but if they think that I might...” 

This time the wild creature flew at him, a blinding whir of feathers and claws which the human made no attempt to defend himself from. A stubborn line appeared between Numair’s eyes and his jaw set, and there was no gentleness in his next words, just pure steel. 

“Stop it, Daine. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and now I’ve… I’ve decided. You’re not the only one who can make a deal. And the next time they let their insane mages out of their cages you won’t be alone. I have to protect you. _Both_ of you.” 

The bird shrieked at him, and then its head whipped around abruptly, and the human mind that lurked behind its eyes fled into the night sky. 

888

She opened her eyes with tears streaming down her cheeks, and fought to catch her breath. Orsille clapped his hand over her mouth, muffling her sobs while his lips curled back from his teeth. Daine shut her eyes, but that brought back the image of Numair, grimly declaring that he was going to betray Alanna to help her, and she whimpered and wrenched her eyes open again.   
It was too soon, too unexpected! She’d been so careful making her plans with the People that she’d never expected anything to change. She’d been trapped for so long now that the very idea of something changing in her monotonous life was laughable. And now, so suddenly, Numair had made a decision that would upset everything and put him back in danger and… and…

 _What can I do?_ She thought desperately. She could write a note to Alanna, but even if she could explain the problem in a few words, by the time she could write another note and smuggle it out of the room it would be too late. She looked up at Orsille, and her thoughts whirled sickly. 

Numair wanted to betray Alanna. He wanted to surrender to Orsille. He would burn all his bridges to the ground in one stupid decision. And for what? 

Daine had seen the keep’s torture room once, with the racks and spiked chests and oddly-shaped, precise blades. They’d taken her there to scare her, and laughed when she’d fled from the darkened room in terror. The man who had been caught stealing food scraps from the pigs hadn’t followed her out. They heard his screams long into the night. 

Orsille loathed Numair. He would want to punish him far more than a pig boy.

Daine sobbed at the thought, trying to turn her face away and gagging when the man grinned and licked the salt from her cheek. “Forgotten how to daydream, have you?” He whispered, and she could hear the sick heat growing in his voice. 

“You’re disgusting.” She spat at him, and turned her face into the indigo-dyed rug. How ridiculous the man was, to have such a ruinously expensive rug in a room he only used for… for this! And then she realised, with sudden hope, that perhaps there was a chance she could do something after all. The official was led by his greed, for countries and for money and for power and revenge. If she could use that… 

Orsille groaned. His fingers bit into her hips as his movement sped up, and then he shuddered and lay still on top of her for a moment. Daine caught her breath at the audacity of what she was about to do, and sent a silent apology to Numair before she could talk herself out of doing it. 

Before the official could pull away with his usual arrogant indifference, she raised a hand and tangled it in the man’s hair, then slid her other arm around his back and entwined one leg over his. She forced herself not to flinch as her hand slipped in the sweat that coated his clammy skin. He froze and stared at her blankly as she fought down a wave of nausea at what she was doing. 

“Please… please, Orsille, don’t go,” she said, and kept her voice soft, pleading, “I want to talk to you.” 

His eyes narrowed, but he looked intrigued, as she’d hoped he would. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that’s not an insult for weeks, creature.” 

“Well, I have no-one else to talk to. You keep me locked up in here, waiting for you, and I can’t talk to anyone, and… well…” she sighed, and looked away so he couldn’t see the self-disgust in her eyes at the words. She’d mimicked the courtly nonsense-tone Hazelle had taught her so well that she almost hated the woman for teaching it to her, but when she pressed on she knew it was working. 

“I have to talk to someone. Anyone. Even if it’s you. If I don’t I think I’ll go mad. I really am very sorry for what I did, but Karenna wouldn’t… oh!” she clapped a hand over her face, grateful for the excuse to move it from his hair, and she saw his eyes sharpen.

“Karenna?” He repeated in a dangerous tone. She nodded, and made her voice sad. 

“I want to apologise to her. Will you let me do that? I’m so sorry for what I did to her. If Leto found out, he would never forgive me. He’d go back to her in an instant. I mean, he would be so horrified if he found out what I… what I did. Hazelle said I should pretend to be his cousin, and she was so, so glad to get her nephew back. There was an argument about land, you know. He inherited so much, and she didn’t even care that he was the Hawk Mage if it kept it in the family. But they had to keep me too, because I helped him escape. And I… I knew they would cast me out as soon as… as…”

“As soon as they found out that you’re the murderous bastard daughter of a peasant whore?” He finished crudely, his voice pleasant enough to hide the genuine interest in his tone. She swallowed and nodded, hoping he would read her nervousness as contrition or anxiety to be honest. He raised a hand, and she flinched until she realised that he was only smoothing a coil of her hair behind her ear. 

“So the hawk mage really _is_ Hazelle’s nephew?” He asked, and his voice was fascinated. Daine nodded, her eyes wide.   
“Why else would she take us in? And then she called that woman that she’s friends with.”

“Alanna.” He smiled thinly. “Champion of Tortall.” 

Daine shrugged, making her voice stupidly vague. “I didn’t care, not really. It’s politics, and I don’t know anything about things like that, you know. I just wanted them to… to keep me. I didn’t think they would once Alanna arrived. So I…” 

“You decided to seduce him.” Orsille finished, and raised an eyebrow. “Karenna told me that much.”

“No. _She_ tried to seduce him.” Daine mentally begged for forgiveness for the lie she was about to tell: “I thought I was smarter than her. I was living in the same house as him. It was easy enough to… well, our rooms were close together. I told him that I had a pregnancy charm, but I didn’t. It was the broken one from my old chain. I got pregnant on purpose. When I was ill, and Karenna said she lost her hold on him? That was the night when I… I told him.” 

“Clever you. What a shame it didn’t work, and you had to return to us.” Orsille didn’t sound convinced. When he ran his hand down to her stomach and tapped his fingertips against the swollen curve of it she realised why he thought she was lying. She pushed his hand away with an instinctive terror, and he laughed. “So why, my petal, do you still want to protect this abomination?”

“Because it’s mine.” She felt her eyes fill with tears. Real tears. Convincing tears. “It’s the only thing I have that’s mine. Everything else belongs to you.”

He laughed louder at that. “You’re welcome to keep it for a few more months, but then it will be mine, too.” His voice took on a greedy edge. “The brat of a werewolf and the hawk mage? Why on earth would I let you keep something so valuable? I’m not even going to let you _near_ it once it’s born.”

She shuddered and tried to pull away from him at that, but he gripped her arms until she stopped struggling and then he leaned so close that she could smell the stale sweat drying on his skin.

“Now,” he said, his voice dangerous, “You were telling me why you were wasting my time, telling me this pathetic story.” 

She took a deep breath, pushing down her horror at the thought of this monster taking her baby, and the rest of her lie came out in a rush. “I want to apologise to Karenna. I tricked Leto, and if he knew… if he knew anything about what I did… then he would go back to Karenna in an instant, and she could be happy. She could live in that beautiful castle in the mountains, and… and inherit Lady Hazelle’s house, when she dies… and she wouldn’t have to come near this horrible place again.” She thought her tears had stopped, but she let them flow again at the thought of Hazelle dying. 

“If anyone can escape from this horrible place, they should.” She sobbed, and meant it. “Even silly, selfish, spoiled-rotten prissy court ladies. I can’t bear the thought that I stopped someone from getting away from here… even if it’s K…K…Karenna…” 

Orsille watched her with baffled fascination clear on his face. “That,” he said, “Is quite possibly the strangest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” 

His eyes went distant as he thought, and Daine could clearly see the gleam when he realised she’d named Leto as Hazelle’s heir. Every official at the parties had expressed envy over the woman’s wealth, and the slave girl had just handed it to Orsille’s family on a silver platter. Even if he would never let Karenna marry the man that he loathed Orsille knew he had enough leverage over Leto to control his money, if not the madness. 

“Are you lying?” His voice was deadly quiet, and he crushed his full weight against the girl for long enough for her to lose the air from her lungs. She shook her head urgently, and he let up. “Good. Because if you are lying to me, I’ll take every word of it back out of your flesh.” He stood up and glanced at the chain on her wrist absently, and then shrugged his thin frame into his sumptuous clothes. 

“This changes nothing. Why should I reward you for telling me that you’re a whore? We both already knew that.” He glanced at the chain again, and shrugged with forced indifference. “I’ll send a healer to you tomorrow, and that’s where my gratitude ends.” He said, and the lock clicked shut behind him. 

Daine pushed herself upright and curled her arms around her stomach, thinking more rapidly than she ever had before in her life. _He’ll go to Karenna now, and if I know that woman like I think I do she’ll soon find a way to talk to Numair._ She thought, and smiled slowly, _And he won’t be able to do anything except play along. He won’t be able to surrender. And even if he does… she covered her smile with her hand, They won’t dare torture the heir of Hazelle’s estate._

 _Numair,_ she prayed urgently, _Don’t you dare mess this up!_


	48. Traitors 1

Numair was confused when the captain told him, in an oddly surly voice, that he had visitors. He had heard nothing from Hazelle to suggest she might be travelling to the camp, and there was no-one else he knew who would travel over the mountain trail. He put down the sheet of glass-like stone that he was dragging away from the cave entrance and wiped sweat from his forehead, leaving a trail of sparkling dust. The days were growing hot as the imminent summer drew closer, and the men were digging out the cave in a chorus of curses and frayed tempers. 

Numair was working as hard as he usually did, but this time he had a plan. The men swapped shifts in the hour after noon, and for a few minutes he knew all would be chaos. That, he had decided, would be the perfect time to slip away. If he was lucky, he could make it up the trail without anyone spotting him. The glare of the sun against the grass was perfect, as most people had to squint to see their hand in front of their face. 

He had just been planning the route he would take when the captain arrived and for a horrified moment the mage thought that he’d been discovered. How? Someone might have overheard what he’d said to Daine the night before, but he doubted it. Apart from Rain, the men all kept their distance from him. The stories of the murderous hawk, it seemed, had made it as far as Tortall.

“Visitors?” He echoed, his voice baffled. The captain nodded curtly. 

“Womenfolk. Two of ‘em. I hope you’re not going to make a habit of bringing ladies into camp, sir. The men are already restless enough as it is...”

Numair shook his head wearily and let the captain’s words about morale and rules fade into a drone in the background. It must be Hazelle, he thought.

After Daine had been kidnapped, some of the old woman’s energy seemed to have drained away. Hazelle had spent a few days in stunned silence, hiding away in her solar. When she emerged she looked tired and drawn, and announced that she was going to travel to Corus and speak to Jonathan herself. 

It was too dangerous, she said, to stay in the valley, and she could give the king a better account of what was going on than a courier ever could. Numair was sure it was down to her that so many soldiers were pouring into the camp each day. Hazelle could be very convincing when she wanted to be, and if she was telling Jonathan that the valley held a threat then he would surely believe her.

Hazelle had said that she might return after her message was delivered. Numair was so sure that the visitor would be the old lady that he stopped short, with a surprised sound, when he saw that two figures waited for him in the large, communal mess tent. They were both young, not bent with age, and wore travel-stained cloaks that were nonetheless made from the very finest material. 

“Who are...” Numair started, and then flinched when one of them turned around, seeing the flash of tired blue eyes. _“Karenna?”_

“Leto.” She smiled the dazzling smile that had made so many men sigh after her, and then the expression faded to something uncertain when he made a violent movement towards her. He stopped himself with abrupt decision, hands shaking in fists at his sides. The woman opened her mouth to speak, looked away from his thunderous expression, and smiled ruefully. “I don’t quite... know how to begin.” 

“Begin.” He repeated flatly, folding his arms and tilting his head to one side. She glanced at her maidservant, and then flashed an irritated look at him. 

“Yes, begin! I’ve not been in this position before. You can just be patient, Leto, and wait for me to find the right words, or I may lose my nerve altogether.”

“Lose your nerve? Have you gone mad?” He couldn’t believe his ears. “What on earth are you doing here, Karenna? After... after everything, how dare you think that...? How dare you!” Some of his fury faded, and a note of uncertainty crept into his voice as he asked, “Did your father send you? Do you have a message?” 

“No! Well, yes, I mean, he did send me. But...” She stumbled over the words, and then batted her eyelashes in a childish expression of confusion that was only partly for show. “He thinks I’m here for one reason, but... I’m not. I think he’s wrong, and I don’t know what to do, and that’s why I’m here. I can be here without him thinking I’ve betrayed him, even if I don’t say the things he told me to say... oh, hag’s bones!” She cursed, and then flushed. “You see? You rushed me, and now it’s all in a tangle.” 

“Somewhere in there is an apology.” He said darkly, taking a step closer to her and seeing her blanch at the expression on his face. “For your part in all this. Start with that, or I won’t stay to listen to the rest of this nonsense. I’ll hand you over to Alanna, and then we’ll have a hostage of our own.” 

“Oh, I am sorry.” She said quickly, and bit her lip. “I really am, as well. That’s the strange thing. I was so angry at her, and then she said... things. And I didn’t know what to think. I cried myself to sleep, and that’s the truth. But when I woke up, it was like... suddenly, some of the things she said made sense. And... and I thought then that she... she’s younger than I am. She’s been locked up for half her life by my father, but she knows so much more than I do about some things. I mean, I...” 

She waved a hand around her awkwardly, and scuffed her foot on the dusty ground. “I take a single step outside of a banqueting hall, and I don’t know how to behave any more. I don’t know what to do now. I want to help you, Leto, and... and her. But I don’t even know how to tell you that, because you’re so angry at me. And I’m so angry at me. And at... at father.” She shuddered and took a deep breath. “Look, can I just tell you from the beginning?”

Numair stared at her levelly, trying to level out the thousand arguing voices in his mind. A single thought surfaced, and he couldn’t help saying it out loud, in some shock: “You really didn’t know what was going on, did you? We thought it was an act. We were sure that you knew.” 

She smiled sardonically and perched on the edge of a table, swinging her feet as if they ached. “Now, don’t be painting me like some kind of innocent child, my dear.” She said with a trace of her old flirtatious voice. “I was told. Of course I was. But it was never real. It was more like a story, like it was happening to other people, far away. The father who kissed my forehead every night when I was a child was a different person to the one who spent his days in the prison.”

“And now?” Numair demanded. She looked at the floor, and her skin turned pale.

“Well, now... he...”   
__

_He arrived home later and later each day, and the servants began to whisper. Mama seemed a little relieved, but then she was always happier when father was away from the house._

_Karenna had always assumed, in her lazy accepting way, that it was because her mother enjoyed having all the power in the house. She did enjoy being the lady, the great mistress, ordering her servants around and choosing everyone’s food, and bedding, and clothes, and even hairstyles. Karenna decided, as a child, that she would run her household with the same iron control when she was a wife._

_Still, when father arrived home late, they never quite knew how they should approach him. Sometimes he was tired, and spoke endlessly of the numbers of soldiers, and the patterns of strategy, and other things that made Karenna’s head hurt. Sometimes he came home in a cheerful blur, and Karenna enjoyed those nights. She didn’t like his new mood. He came home in increasingly odd moods, staring thoughtfully into the air and barely noticing when people spoke to him. He looked like he was trying to work something out, some great puzzle where the answer was just out of his reach._

_“It’s that bitch in the prison.” Karenna had overheard her grandmother’s bitter words to her maid and had stopped short, shocked at hearing her grandmother swear. “The soldiers are saying that she’s an evil witch... and I don’t mean like all the others. She’s cast some thrall on him, I swear it. Isn’t it enough that she destroyed my only grandchild’s chance at happiness? But now...”_

_Karenna flushed and ducked away, tucking her flouncing petticoats behind the wall as she hid, and bit her lip. She was starting to wish she had never said anything to her parents after she’d visited the prison. She had been furious, slandering the slave to anyone who would listen, and inventing a thousand hurts because she couldn’t quite remember what Annette had even said to her, just the excruciating insult of seeing pity in the girl’s grey eyes. Her ranting had last for weeks, until finally Orsille summoned her to his office and asked his daughter what had upset her. He had listened silently, his eyes narrowing, and he had left without a word once his daughter’s rage had spent itself, and she had run out of things to say._

_“Karenna,” her mother had pulled her aside when he had left, and her voice had been unusually serious. “My love, don’t say any more to him, I beg of you. He’s already angry enough. Don’t make it worse. You do know that he’s going to hurt her?”_

_The younger woman tossed her head and snorted derisively. “She deserves it.”_

_Lady Orsille had bit her lip, and for a moment Karenna’s anger had faded, and she had seen the vulnerability that her mother usually kept so strongly concealed behind her housekeeping and social plans. The older woman had tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then raised a hand to touch Karenna’s cheek._

_“Beloved, try to think like a human being.” She said, her voice soft. “I know you’re hurting, and you’re angry, but I promise you it will heal. You’ll find someone else to love, child. And this girl might have offended you, but didn’t she have as much right to fall in love as you did?”_

_“No, of course she doesn’t.” Karenna’s voice was sulky, “She’s just a slave.”_

_Lady Orsille sighed, and her hand dropped away. She rubbed at it absently, running her hand along the odd scar that covered her palm. Her daughter couldn’t remember her graceful mother ever cutting herself, so she had always thought her mother had been born with the mark, just like the strawberry mark that darkened one of Karenna’s knees. Her mother always ran her fingers along the scar when she was nervous, or when she was worried, but never when her husband was around._

_“Karenna,” she said, “Don’t wish hurt on anyone. No-one deserves that. Your father loves you, and you’ve made him angry enough. I’m asking you: please don’t tell him any more lies about that girl. No-one deserves what he will do to her, not even a slave.”_

_Karenna had flounced away at that, hardly hearing her mother’s words, and it was only after she heard her grandmother swearing about Annette that she remembered what she’d been told. Why was her mother so keen to defend the girl if Annette was callously casting a thrall on her husband? She bit her lip and drifted down the corridor, unused to the storm of thoughts that were crossing her mind._

_No-one deserves what he will do to her, she thought back over her mother’s words, and felt an icy chill run down her spine. It hadn’t been, No-one deserves to be hurt, or No-one deserves to be punished. Her mother hadn’t meant that at all. Lady Orsille’s ire was directed, very specifically, at the man she was married to. And as she spoke, her hand had twisted around the swollen scar that deformed it. _

_That night, when her father came home, Karenna didn’t race into his arms but silently watched him from the balcony, seeing the care with which he stored his coat and tunic in the chest by the door before making his way into the main hall, where a fire blazed merrily. It was always his first action when he returned home, and his daughter was forbidden from opening the chest. It had become a joke, said in a scolding voice: That’s servant’s work, my dear!_

_With a flash of inspiration unusual to her, the woman realised that if there was any clue about her father’s life outside the home, then it would be in that chest. And so Karenna waited until he was gone, and then made her way down the stairs on feet which might have been quieter if she hadn’t moved so impatiently._

_She hauled the lid up off the chest and winced when it creaked. Gods, but it sounded so much louder than it should! She made a snap decision, and lifted the tunic out of the chest and rapidly closed the lid, running away with her prize to her room so she could inspect it in peace, in front of a roaring fire. She didn’t know what she expected to see. The tunic was damp with the spring rains, and tacky with mud under her manicured fingers. She threw herself in front of her fire and studied it in the strong, burning light. Her eyes widened in horror, and she had to stop herself from retching._

_It was blood. Red, tacky blood, still fresh and drying on her father’s clothes. His undershirt had been clean, she remembered that, so it wasn’t his own blood. No, this was someone else’s. And it didn’t seem so unusual to him, to return home covered in blood and hide the clothes away until the servants could collect them. He hadn’t seemed to notice. There had been no disgust on his face when he peeled the clothes away from his skin, just the absentminded happiness of a man returning home after a long day’s work._

_“Blood,” she whispered, and hurled the tunic across the room. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked, feeling her throat close up in horror as she couldn’t stop repeating, “Blood, blood, blood, blood...”_

_A hand fell on her shoulder, and she gripped at it in mute terror as she recognised the twisted hand of her mother. “Oh, mama,” she wept, “I saw father put his clothes in the chest, and I looked, and...”_

_Lady Orsille silently crossed the room and picked up the tunic. She studied it for a moment, and when she spoke her musical voice was cold and pitiless._

_“Yes.” She said, and held the tunic up so her daughter had to look directly at it, and her words were merciless. “Look, you got your revenge. Tonight every drop of it was shed for you. Are you proud of what you’ve done?”_

_“It wasn’t me!” Karenna gulped and buried her face in her knees, remembering the childish bitterness she had lied with, and the expression in her father’s eyes as he listened to her. She remembered the way he had rested his hand on her head, comforting the poor, wounded daughter with the same hand that she now knew had... had..._

_She felt warmth press against her side as her mother sat down, and heard the woman’s thoughtful words as if they were coming from another person. Another woman, who Karenna had never met before, and who she was almost afraid of, spoke._

_“I married a demon.” The woman said in a voice veined with iron. “It’s time you knew the truth about your father, my love. It’s time for everything to change, and it will start with you, in this room, listening to me for the first time in your silly life. Do you hear me, Karenna?”_

_“Yes, mama.” Karenna whispered, wiping away tears and looking at her mother in some wonder. The older woman smiled, and the expression was unsettling._

_“For twenty five years there has been nothing to do but wait, and act like everything is fine, and watch, and bide my time.” She held up the tunic. “There have been other girls, before this one, and other bloodstained clothes brought into my home with no more explanation than a snide remark. But this girl, Karenna... this one is different. She’s the first one he’s not able to kill, and he’s fascinated by her.” Her face hardened and she stared at the fire, a nerve twitching in her cheek. “I pray to the gods, Karenna, that you never find out what a torment his fascination is. I pray every night. And I pray for her, too. The slave girl.”_

_“The Tortallans are gathering an army.” Karenna breathed, and her mother nodded._

_“If I go to them, and offer to help them, well...” she took a deep breath, “Your father would know in an instant that I had betrayed him. It only took him hours to find out the last time I tried to run away.” She held up her scarred hand, and Karenna flinched. “But you... he wants you to go to their camp. You have a reason to go. And he wants you to use it to spy on them, and ingratiate yourself with them.”_

_“He... what?” The woman’s head spun, and she sat up straight. “Mama, I can’t take this in. Can’t I have some time to think? He’s still my... my papa. He...” she caught sight of the tunic again, and her mother’s hand, and sobbed. “Oh gods, why did you tell me? No... I mean, why didn’t you tell me before?”_

_“Would you have believed me?” Lady Orsille said, and her smile was twisted. “No-one else ever has. Why should I think you would be any different? He bought you with pretty dresses and fine jewels, just as he bought me with his fine smiles and clever words. He made us into what we are. But you’re not just his. You’re my child too, Karenna. You can be so much more than his creature, if you choose. And you must make that choice, and soon. Lives depend on it.”_

“My father called me the next morning, and he said...” Karenna looked up at Numair, and decided not to tell him the other half of her story. Not yet. It was enough that the hatred in his eyes had faded through disgust, to horror, to outrage, and finally to some kind of sympathetic cynicism. She didn’t think that repeating back the story that her father had gleefully told her about Annette would make him trust her any more. “He sent me here.” She finished lamely, and waved a hand. “As far as father’s concerned, I’m only here to talk to you. I’m... I’m chasing down the heir of Hazelle’s estate to woo him and win him. Annette told him that. She said...” 

Numair blinked, and then looked away with an odd expression on his face. Karenna couldn’t understand the mixture of anger, amusement and frustration that played across his eyes as he choked back a strange laugh. 

_Well played, Daine,_ he thought with irony, remembering how violently the bird had argued with him the night before. _I might have known you’d find a way to stop me surrendering. Clever trick, little one..._

He looked around, and asked, quietly and deliberately, “What, exactly, did she tell your father?” 

Karenna looked uncomfortable, and glanced away for a second. Numair knew she was deciding what to share with him, and curbed his impatience to stop himself from pushing her. In the end, her words were quite simple: 

“He thinks that your place in the war is all the Lady Alanna and Hazelle’s doing, and that if you knew... well, it was just a story about Annette. A lie, I suppose. But he thinks it’s true, and he told me that if I told you it then... then you might change sides. Fight for him. He likes the idea of... of owning you.” 

Numair rolled his eyes at that, but his mind was racing too fast to challenge her on his apparent heritage. “So your _father_ has Daine?”

“I suppose so. Is her real name Daine? I didn’t know that. Father was at the other keep when I saw her, and she was locked in the room of that man she killed. The other men said they would be moving her somewhere else when they’d...they'd _broken_ her, so I don’t know where she is now.” Karenna bit her lip, but the vile word had already been said, and Numair looked at her accusingly. 

“You saw her? You _spoke_ to her?” 

“She laughed at me, and said she felt sorry for me. She was chained up, but she felt sorry for me!” Karenna still felt the sting of those words, and was a little offended when the mage blinked at her, and then started laughing. 

“Well, I may doubt the rest of your story, but I know that must be true.” He said, relaxing for the first time since he’d seen the visiting woman. “I can just imagine her saying that. She probably meant it in a kind enough way.” 

“You don’t believe me?” Karenna hesitated, and then held something out to him. “Here. Lord Parsey gave this to me. He stole it from her. When I saw her, she saw I was wearing it. She told me it had been a… a gift from you after the first night you spent together. I don’t think anyone else would know that, would they? So that proves I actually spoke to her, at least. But I can’t keep this. If I return it to her they’ll take it away again, so I thought that you should have it.” 

He frowned and took the belt, not letting his emotions be read on his stony face.

“Karenna,” he said, his voice odd. “Will you tell us – Alanna and the other knights and I – the whole story, from the beginning, under the cast of a truth spell? Not just why you’re here and where Daine is, but what happened in the keep, too, and anything you know about the soldiers your father commands?”

“Gladly.” She said, and thought of the bloodstained tunic and her mother’s mutilated hand. Her voice held new determination as she agreed wholeheartedly to betray her father. “Anything.”


	49. Traitors 2

“Daine…” 

The voice was a harsh, almost shocked whisper, and hearing her real name pulled her out of her fitful sleep more rapidly than any shouted curse might have done. She blinked and sat up, rubbing her eyes against the bright sunlight that streamed through her window, and peered blearily at the speaker. 

He stood frozen by the door, his hands splayed at his sides as if he had no idea how to move. Daine recognised him slowly as the guard who followed Dakinn around: the one who had given her bread and meat and a warm blanket when she was caring for Numair. Then, in a sleepy haze, she remembered his name, and the conversation they’d had over the pig bucket.

Ronan was staring at her in something close to horror, and she blushed and looked down at her hands. The distraction didn’t work, because under his burning gaze she saw them as if for the first time. They were thinner than they should be, almost skeletal, with fingers which were swollen and blackened and a livid bruise spreading over one wrist. She glanced up at the horrified guard, and tucked her hand into her lap. 

“I don’t want to know what I look like, Ronan.” she said, her voice soft. “I don’t. Please don’t tell me. _Please_ don’t look at me like that. I don’t need your pity. I don’t _want_ it. I can’t bear it. So don’t.”

“Daine.” He seemed to relax, stepping closer to her and kneeling down on the rug as if she were his equal. Dane had to remind herself that he was; the longer she stayed here, the more she started thinking like a slave again. 

Still, the healer’s words were soft and rapid, and she smiled at even that simple gentleness as he continued. 

“I’ve been sent to heal you. I… I volunteered. Dakinn didn’t want to come all the way along the trail to the north lookout tower, and the others said…” he closed his mouth with a snap and shrugged ruefully at her expression. “Well, you already know how things are done around here. How they think. I’m so sorry.”

There was so much more in his words than their simple meaning. Daine knew he was telling her the same thing as he had when she’d been locked up before: he was sorry that he couldn’t help her. And yet he was giving her information, too. 

She knew where she was, now. The lookout towers loomed on the cliff tops above the keeps, balanced precariously with solid foundations cut into the rock of the craggy mountains. A long time ago they had been built to watch the next valley, but now they were abandoned. It was too much trouble to send someone along the long trails between the keeps and their towers just to stare out into the sky in the freezing wind. She blinked, and belatedly realised what Ronan had said. 

“Of all the people in here,” she said, “You’ve got the least to apologise for, I reckon. And that includes me, so don’t be apologising to me, either. Can we talk? You used my real name, so I guess the listening spells are turned off.”

He smiled thinly and nodded, reaching for her hands. When she instinctively flinched and drew back his eyes narrowed and some of his sympathetic manner faded. 

“If you don’t want to be healed that’s fair enough, but you should know I’m on a schedule, girl. They don’t want me in here for long.”

“In case I corrupt you?” She responded tartly, letting him take her hand and watching as he bowed his head over it. Butter yellow magic seeped into her skin for a moment, and then he frowned as if he’d just heard her question. 

“No, you idiot. It’s fair foolish of you to make fun of Orsille. Perhaps ‘protective’ is the wrong word, but he damn sure doesn’t want another person to come anywhere near you.”

“Protective?” she repeated the syllables, and smiled mockingly at her bruised skin. “Yes, I’m _basking_ in his loving protection. Can’t you tell?”

“I can’t heal all of this damage.” He ignored her, drawing his magic back as he finished scanning her body and speaking briskly. “I will heal anything that might hurt the child… and your ribs, there’re two that are broken, and so are a few of your fingers. I guess he was feeling particularly loving, the rat-faced bastard. Is there anything else you’d like me to try?”

“I didn’t realise it was that bad,” she whispered, and wrapped her hands around herself, feeling suddenly cold. “Do you have enough magic?”

“It’s time that’s in short supply.” He said curtly. “I’ll take that as a no, then. Lie down and for the gods’ sake, don’t wriggle.” 

She did as he asked, moving painfully, and then glanced up at him to see that he was watching her with an odd expression on his face. She recognised pity, and hated it, and decided to ignore the anger which she was sure wasn’t directed at her. Even so, seeing it on the face of someone she still instinctively thought of as a guard mage made her shiver. It was the third emotion that made her pause, and realise that some of his coldness, at least, was defensive. He hesitated when she lay down, unable to touch her, and she decided to rescue him. 

“Is it hard to decide where to start? Please heal my baby first,” she said softly, and took his hand to press it against the curve of her stomach. He glanced at her, mouth open to make some retort, and she let her hand drop away as if she’d been scolded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tell you what to do.”

“Is it Orsille’s?” He asked, bowing his head again to meditate. He swatted at her when she flinched at the idea. “Stay still, idiot. Do you want me to accidentally heal your eyelashes?” 

“It’s Numair’s.” She said simply, and then thought to add, “The hawk mage they had me heal.”

“I know who Numair is, girl. Do you think I listened in with my ears closed?” He rolled his eyes and finished his healing, then moved his hands to her ribs and glanced at her. “This will hurt a little.”

She was silent for a moment, catching her breath at the sharp pain of her ribs clicking into place, before she said. “He knows about the baby.”

“No surprise there,” the healer said tartly. “I assume he was present at its creation, for a start.”

“Did they teach you that at healer class?” She returned, irritable because of the risk she was about to take in trusting this man. He was close to being a stranger, but he was also someone who she had silently known for years, and who had been kind to her when it was a risk to his own safety. She took another breath, winced as the final rib fused into wholeness, and then said. “Well, I told him. Yesterday.” 

“Mm.” He pressed a finger to a bruise absently, watching it fade, and then looked up with wide eyes. His coarse voice cracked in surprise. _“Yesterday?”_

“It’s a good thing there are no listening spells today, huh?” She asked, and smiled wickedly at the expression in his eyes. “Yesterday. Yes. I can’t tell you how. But you did ask me to warn you before we burned this place to the ground.” 

“You’ve been locked up in this tower, or in your cell, for five months, Daine.” He said intensely. “How on earth are you talking to someone outside?”

“Well, for a start, when I tell them I can’t tell them something, they don’t waste time asking me about it.” She said, making a mental note of the timeframe.

He reddened a little, and she continued urgently, “Can I speak? I’m asking you for your help. _Please._ If you stay here, then my friends will hurt you. If you leave, then the officials will hurt your family. If you help me, even a little, perhaps together we can find a way to break this place open from the inside. I have a plan. I'll need your help. If you really can’t then I understand, but please don’t tell anyone. I... I can keep going on my own.” 

“Do you want to get yourself killed?” He hissed, and grabbed her broken hand in a strong grip. She cursed broadly at the pain even as he shook her and let go. “This is what that man does to people when he _likes_ them, Daine! You haven’t seen anything close to his anger, not yet. The man is _playing_ with you. Do you want to push him over the edge?”

“Yes.” She said, and meant it. “I really do.” 

888

“The girl is sure to miscarry.” Ronan said flatly, his head ducked down respectfully even though he had gone to the official’s office un-summoned the next morning. Orsille was silent, so the healer decided to fill the gap. 

“I’m not sayin’ you need to stop… um, your meetings with her, er… sir. But if you want to carry on as you are then she’ll need healing more often. Regular, like. I don’t know if you care about the brat she’s carrying, but she’s a hostage, isn’t she? If she loses the baby it’s fair likely she’ll die, with it. She’s weaker than she looks. In a few weeks we could probably reverse some of the damage, but it’ll take some work. I don’t mind doing it. It’s _annoying,_ but I guess I’m the one who couldn’t think of a way to fix her quickly.”

Orsille scratched his chin thoughtfully. 

_He doesn’t even look ashamed._ Ronan thought with a flash of hatred, keeping his expression carefully respectful. _He’s just been told he’s tortured a pregnant woman to the point of death, and he doesn’t give a damn._

It hadn’t been a lie, either. That was what made it so easy to follow Daine’s plan. She’d suggested the story as a way to let them speak more often, and the healer had to stop himself from demanding to know how she was so calm if she knew how sick she was. He’d stopped himself when he realised that she didn’t know. As far as Daine was concerned, it was a lie. Ronan didn’t want her to know the truth when there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. 

He agreed to her story and then suggested that she try sleeping more. Daine laughed with genuine amusement, and asked him what on earth else he thought she had to do all day. Ronan scowled sourly at being teased, and had left her without another word. 

“They’re planning something,” Orsille said, his voice slow as he stared out of the window towards the pass. Now that spring was blossoming into summer the road was alive with flowers and insects, and the birds were so loud that their voices seemed to echo around the valley. 

No-one in the keep could remember a year when so many birds had flocked to roost in their walls. Some were even calling it auspicious, knowing that the Tortallan army was gathering on the other side of the valley walls. The birds, they said, were hailing the Gallan victory. Let’s see how many roost in _their_ camp! 

“Then you’ll need leverage, I guess,” Ronan made himself shrug, and his words were cold. “It’d be easier to just let her die, mind. I’m sure they’ll believe she died from the child. Happens to women all the time.”

“No.” The official’s voice was curt, and the healer breathed a mental sigh of relief. “No, I want... _we need_ her alive. Take the key from Dakinn and go in the mornings, if you must go at all. I don’t want to see you there. But let me remind you that she’s a prisoner, just like the others. We will not make a special concession for this woman simply because she’s breeding. She’s here to be punished, not pampered. I won’t have her getting spoiled. Save your magic and only heal her if it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Surely _any_ physical damage…” Ronan started, trying to speak with the indisputable voice of a healer. Orsille interrupted him with the greater authority of an official. 

“Since when does a whore need her _hands_ to carry a brat to term?” He sneered crudely, his voice barbed when he lingered on the words ‘hands’. 

Ronan paled, realising then how close he’d come to infuriating the man. Of all the officials in the keep, Orsille had the power to send the soldiers out after anyone’s family with the sure knowledge that no-one would dare to challenge him. Most people didn’t get the chance to cross the man twice. 

“You placed no restrictions on her healing, sir.” He said stiffly. “I had no orders until now, and of course I’ll follow them from now on.”

“See that you do.” Orsille sighed and turned away from the window, shaking his head as if the healer were an ignorant child he had to correct. “It saddens me, though, that our employees don’t seem to be able to think clearly. Did it not occur to you that I do all things for good reasons? She’s a wild mage, you idiot. She’s trained the birds to carry notes for her to her friends in the Tortallan camp. I can’t kill every sparrow in Galla. That would be ridiculous, but I can stop her from holding a piece of charcoal.” 

“That’s…” Ronan started, and then closed his mouth with a snap. “Why didn’t you just tell her to stop, sir?”

“Tell her?” Orsille grinned, and the points of his teeth showed clearly against his purplish lip. “Why on earth would I do that? I want to see what she’ll try next! In fact…” he looked thoughtful, a smile playing around his eyes, and then looked up and waved a hand irritably. “Ah, be off with you. Get the spare key from Dakinn, and for the gods’ sake, try to have an intelligent thought between now and the winter.” 

Ronan left in a dark mood, and walked into a woman who was opening the door to the office as he was leaving. He flinched back and bowed, recognising the woman from her fine silks and haughty expression. She raised an eyebrow at him, said nothing, and waited for him to leave before clicking the door shut behind her. 

Ronan hesitated, and then leaned against the wall. Casting a small spell on one ear, he edged as close to the door as he dared, and listened with increased hearing as the woman spoke. 

“Father...”

“Karenna!” There was a rustle of fabric, and the sound of the man kissing his daughter’s cheek. His voice was different, strangely jovial. “My dear, what are you doing here?” 

“Perhaps I came to see you!” She retorted, with a hint of mischief in her cultured voice. The official laughed softly, and Ronan heard him pulling the chair out so his daughter could sit down. She thanked him, and then sighed dramatically. “In truth, papa, I... things aren’t working too well. I can’t make him believe me.”

“Perhaps you should try harder,” the man replied, and there was a warning tone in his words. Karenna seemed not to notice, or at any rate her light voice didn’t change much when she answered.

“Well, you... we... kidnapped that girl, and he adores her, so of course he doesn’t trust us. He thinks it’s a trick.”

“How astute of him.” Orsille’s voice was almost amused, and Karenna laughed. 

“Yes, well. I was wondering if there was anything else that you knew about that girl, things that could make the difference. I... there was a moment when there was real doubt in his eyes, you know? I think I can use it. I think I can convince him, but I need to know more than just a... a second-hand story.” 

The official was quiet for a long moment, and then his voice was slow. “I don’t know anything like that to tell you. I never asked her. Frankly, I don’t care what goes on inside her head, and besides, she’d only lie about it.” 

“That doesn’t help me, father.” 

“Well, why don’t you speak to her yourself? Find out whatever you can that way?” 

“Ugh, do I have to?” Ronan could almost imagine the refined lady wrinkling her nose in disgust. Orsille’s footsteps became heavier, as if he were slightly annoyed as he paced the room. 

“I don’t think,” he said impatiently, “That you quite grasp what’s going on here. My army is quite evenly matched with that... that _knight’s._ My mages will be strong enough to stop her magic, legendary as she is. But the hawk? Who knows what he can do?” 

Orsille slammed his hand on something so loudly that Ronan had to stop himself from jumping, knowing that if he made a sound he would be found out. 

“Karenna, he slaughtered half the officials in this valley with the same amount of effort it takes you to get dressed in the morning. No-one saw him enter or leave their houses, but they damn well saw what he did to them. And then he stopped. He just stopped. Why, Karenna? What is he planning?” He was breathing heavily, and his voice grew intense. “I need to know. It could change this war. So if it takes you swallowing your pride and talking to my slave for half an hour, then you’ll damn well do it.” 

Karenna’s voice was sulky. “You don’t have to blame me for all those deaths. You said yourself that those men were stupid.”

He relented slightly. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, my dear. It’s not so much of a chore. I’ll buy you a new dress when we get home, how about that? That thing you’re wearing is quite travel stained.”

The girl was silent for a moment, but Ronan heard the relief in her father’s voice when he said, “There, that’s better. Who could resist that smile? I’m sure you’ll have the hawk eating out of your hand before long.”


	50. Traitors 3

“This is it.” The man’s voice sounded like he was trying too hard to be indifferent as he took a bronze key out of his pocket and opened the heavy lock on the ancient door. 

Karenna couldn’t stop herself from peering through the doorway curiously, barely seeing anything in the darkness. As her eyes cleared, she saw that it was a large room with nothing more than a single fireplace and a tiny barred window in it. The floor was lined with a thick carpet which looked bizarrely out of place against the dark, dingy room. The place smelled of copper and of mildew, and it was completely silent.  
For a confused second Karenna thought that there was no-one in there, and her heart raced as she thought the girl had managed to escape. Then her father took three steps across the room and into the shadows, and hauled something to its feet in a harsh rattle of iron chains. Grey eyes caught the dim light, and Karenna found herself lowering her gaze so she didn’t have to meet the other girl’s glare. 

“Creature,” Orsille drawled in a voice completely alien to the one Karenna knew. “My daughter wants to speak with you.”

The eyes flicked upwards, but Daine said nothing. Karenna took a breath to ask something, and then gasped when her father raised his hand. She cringed back from the sound of the blow, her own eyes stinging with tears as the other girl raised her head dizzily and glared at the official. He pulled her closer. 

“You _will_ show respect.” He hissed. 

“Father, don’t...” the girl started, her voice a hoarse croak which stopped with a squeak when her father dropped the girl roughly to the floor and looked around. She barely recognised the father she loved in the twisted expression she saw. She was almost backing away when a small voice cut across the breathless silence. 

“Lady Karenna,” Daine said softly, and bowed her head in a shadow of the elegant manner she had learned from Hazelle. “You’re wearing a new belt.” 

Karenna blinked, and looked down at the plain leather girdle which encircled her waist. She realised the other woman’s meaning straight away, and bit back a hysterical laugh. 

_She knows! If I had believed father’s story then of course I’d be wearing it... gloating over her._

She blushed at the memory of her childish pettiness, and forced her lips into a thin line. “What I wear is none of your business, slave.”

Orsille’s face twisted into an approving smile, and he looked almost amenable again as he slowly released Daine’s arm. “Creature,” he said, “My daughter has some questions for you, about your little confession. You were complaining about having no-one to talk to, weren’t you? So I’m sure you’ll have a lot to say.” 

“I’d almost rather you beat it out of me than make me talk to that bitch.” Daine said flatly, but there was something off about her words. Her eyes flickered to meet Karenna’s in something close to an apology, before returning to glare stubbornly at Orsille. Karenna felt almost sick at the seething fury on her father’s face, but Daine laughed mockingly at his expression. “Oh, what’s this? Your darling little daughter doesn’t know you at all, does she?” 

“Karenna,” Orsille said in a dangerous voice, “Wait outside.” 

“No,” the girl breathed, and stepped forward to lay a soothing hand on her father’s arm. “Father, it’s just because... because you’re here. I’m sure if you left us I could speak to her. Please, let me try.”

He blinked, and drew a ragged breath. “If she speaks to you like that again, or says _anything...”_

“I’ll tell you.” Karenna insisted, and gently drew her father’s hand into her own to walk him to the door. She lowered her voice so Daine couldn't hear her, knowing full well that the other woman honestly had no reason to believe she was there to help. “Please, father, let me do this. You said it was important. I can tell that the more you threaten her, the less she’ll tell us. She’s being a… a stubborn _bitch_ because you're here. Please let me try.” 

He smiled and patted her hand, his black mood seemingly gone. “You’re a good girl, Karenna.” He raised his voice, and the pleasant words held so little malice that both woman shivered. “I’ll see you later tonight, Annette.” 

“I hope you rot in chaos.” Daine spat after him, holding her bruised face. He laughed. 

Karenna waited for the door to click shut behind her father before she rushed forward to the girl, and stopped short when Daine held up a hand with a warning look in her eyes. She tilted her head sideways, listening intently, and it was only when the last footstep had faded into the distance that she opened her eyes and nodded that it was safe for them to talk. 

“Your real name is Daine, and Leto... he’s really called Numair.” Karenna said in a quick, soft voice. “You told father a lie, but he believes it. You knew Numair wouldn’t believe a word of it. I don’t believe it either. But I’m pretending I do, so I have an excuse to speak to you, and go back to the Tortallans, without my father realising that I... I want his plan to fail.” She twisted her hands together awkwardly and walked to the window, not looking around. “And... I’m sorry for everything I said before. There. That’s all of it.” 

There was a long pause, and she heard the other girl draw a surprised breath as if to speak, and then stop herself. There was a rustle of cloth on stone as Daine sat down and leaned wearily against the wall, pressing her aching head to the stone wall to numb the bruise Orsille had given her. The birds sang outside, and Daine listened to them as she thought.

“I never would have guessed,” She eventually said, “That _you_ would react like this. Never. Out of all the things I planned, I would never have dreamed that you’d actually want to help me.”

“It isn’t just about you,” Karenna couldn’t stop her voice from sounding haughty, but it was more a habit than anything else. She sat down on the floor next to the other girl, tucking her legs gracefully under her and explaining about her mother. Daine listened in sympathetic silence but didn’t say anything, fiddling with the tattered edge of her green dress with stiff hands that were oddly coloured and swollen. Karenna forced herself not to wince or look away. 

“Why are you here?” Daine asked eventually, looking up. “I can understand you going to talk to Numair. I knew you would, that was the whole idea! But why come here?” 

The other woman looked around the room, taking in the dark blood stains on the rug now that her eyes had adjusted to the light and could see past the dark shadows. Now that she was here, the bright world outside and the plans she had made in it seemed feeble. She searched for a word. “Doesn't it bring you comfort?” 

Daine smiled sardonically and wrapped her arms around her knees, the gesture slightly awkward because of the curve of her pregnancy. “How very kind of you, mistress Karenna. I am truly comforted.” Her voice took on a serious note, as she leaned forward urgently, “Tell me – please, I mean... how is Numair? I mean, really? When he thinks people can’t see him, how does he look? I’m worried about him.” 

Karenna frowned and steepled her fingers, feeling decidedly uncomfortable as she realised she was turning into a courier between a man she had loved and a woman she had loathed. “He’s more worried about you. He sent me with a message.”

“But I can...” Daine sounded confused, “I’ll hear it myself.”

“Yes, through the birds, right?” She cut across the younger girl’s words, and Daine’s eyes opened wide in shock. 

“You know about that?”

Karenna smiled, feeling slightly smug at being part of the conspiracy. “He thought you might need some proof that you can trust me. He knows you can’t cast a truth spell on me, like he and the lady Alanna did. So he told me a secret instead.” The lightness in her voice faded. “He says you’re to stop doing it. He doesn’t know how you’re doing it, but he says that it has to be dangerous, and with the baby...” her eyes drifted unconsciously to the swell of Daine’s belly, and she looked away uncomfortably. Daine took a sharp breath and looked away. 

“Fine,” she said, “Tonight I’ll...”

“No, not tonight. You’re not to do it ever again. He said that.” Karenna persisted. “Don’t you understand? Are you stupid? It’s too dangerous!”

“But I...” Daine’s voice grew quiet, and she rested her forehead on her knees helplessly. “But I... how else can I see him? I know something’s wrong. I just know it. There’s something... I can’t...” her shoulders moved unconsciously, and Karenna realised that she was trying not to cry. “I want to see him. I have to know he’s alright. It’s the only thing I ha... have left, Karenna. Why is he t...taking it away from me?” 

“I’m sorry,” Karenna moved forward instinctively and rested her hand on the girl’s head, feeling her shake as she tried not to sob out loud. Daine said nothing, and without thinking Karenna wrapped her arms around the girl and let her cry, her own eyes filling with tears. 

In that moment she realised that Annette, the girl she’d been jealous of for so many months, was completely imaginary. This Daine was a real person, with thoughts and feelings of her own. It was too much for Karenna to bear. It had been easy enough to think in plans and conspiracies and messages, but she felt her heart twist at the idea that out of everything vile had been thrown at this girl, the only thing she couldn’t bear was being separated from the man she loved. It made Karenna’s whimsical affections seem pitiful. She stroked Daine’s hair, not caring that her silk dress was being marked with tears. 

“I thought you didn’t cry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “They all say...” 

Daine sniffled and wiped her eyes, “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to.” She looked up, and there was an odd defiance in her eyes. “I can’t show weakness. Not here. If your father saw...” her expression twisted and she looked away, seeing the expression in the other woman’s eyes. 

“I know what he does to you.” Karenna said, not knowing why she felt the need to say the bitter words. Seeing this room made her father’s twisted monstrosities seem more real. Daine shrugged and swallowed as if she felt sick, not meeting the girl’s sympathetic look. 

“You don’t.” She said shortly, and her voice sounded like it was coming from someone completely different. The words were filled with disgust, with pain, and with something that was almost guilt. “You don’t know any of it. Not a bit. What do you think you see – a few drops of blood and a new bruise on my face? Please.” She laughed scornfully and twisted her slave chain around her wrist so violently her skin went red. “Your precious father’s lust for me is the only thing that keeps me alive. The vile things I’ve done to keep that lust burning torture me far more than he ever could. And he knows that. Do you know that? He thinks it’s funny.”

“No. No, I didn’t know…”

“No, you don’t. Do you want to know more? Since you want to pretend to understand your father’s little slave?” Daine’s voice rose, and tears shone in her furious eyes even though this time she obstinately refused shed a single one. “How about I tell you about the sky? I’m not allowed to see it, you know. I can’t even see out of that window. I have to earn it. If he’s feeling generous your bastard of a father chains my wrists to those bars and I can look out of them all I please while he takes his damn payment, and afterwards I have to thank him or else he won’t bring me water for days afterwards. And how do you think I have to say thank you, Karenna? Tell me, since you _know what he does to me.”_

“I don’t know. I don’t. I’m so sorry. I just meant that I… I know you’re alive.” Karenna said in a voice filled with tears. “That’s more than the others he did this to. But I know that’s not… not enough.” 

Daine bit off her retort and forced her blazing eyes to the floor. She took a deep breath and Karenna watched as her placid mask slowly returned to her bruised face. When the girl was calm again she looked up. 

“Did you tell Numair?” She asked, and smiled when Karenna hesitated and shook her head. “Good. Then please don’t.”

“But he asked me to report back...” Karenna stopped as Daine shook her head curtly and rose to her feet, the chain clinking around her ankle as she walked to the window and stared out at the sunset-lit bars. 

“And what good will that do, Karenna? He knows things are bad. He doesn’t need to know how bad. It will only make him angry, and... and if I’m right and the Hawk is...” Daine blinked and stopped talking abruptly. She held her hand out, and Karenna watched in wonder as a tiny starling squeezed through the window and flew into the girl’s palm. Daine smiled at the creature and stroked its back with a gentle finger, her eyes softening. 

“I suppose I... I’m not so very alone.” She said in gentle tones. 

“You won’t be for much longer, anyway.” Karenna said, standing up to look more closely at the bird with wide eyes. “Not if his plan works. That’s the other reason why I’m here. He said, uhm...” she pursed her lips, and smiled at the curious expression on Daine’s face. “We’re going to carry on with your story, Daine. I can come and go from here, and take messages if you like. I won’t be searched. They wouldn’t dare!” She pulled a fierce face for a moment, and grinned when Daine choked back a laugh. 

“Does this mean we’re going to be friends?” Daine asked in a teasing voice, smiling as she raised her hand to the window and watched the bird fly away. Karenna shrugged. 

“Well, you’re a lot nicer when you’re not pretending to be a noble,” she said, and although her voice was serious her eyes laughed. 

Daine looked sidelong at her. “So are you.”

Karenna hid a grimace, and the other girl grinned at the offended expression. The genuine smile transformed her whole bearing. Suddenly she seemed more confident, and her words were bright. 

“Okay,” she said, “So what’s the plan? I refuse to believe the high and mighty lady Karenna is happy to just be a messenger!”

Karenna looked at her feet, forcing herself to say the words she’d been dreading since Alanna and Numair had decided on them. “Father wants Numair on his side. He’s offered him a deal – if he comes back here, and willingly puts one of those chain things on, then he’ll be treated well. Like an official, you know? The chain wouldn’t even be real, it’d just be for show. Numair thinks he can gain father’s trust by betraying the Tortallans... or at least, looking like he is. So it will take a few days for me to ‘convince’ him, and then he’ll turn himself over to my father. When Alanna attacks, he’ll be able to fight from inside the keep.” 

Daine covered her face with her hand for a moment, and took a deep breath. “They won’t torture him? They promise that?” 

“Father says he's too valuable.” Karenna’s voice showed exactly how much she trusted her father, but Daine looked reassured by the words. She smiled shakily and lowered her hand, resting it unconsciously on her stomach as she thought. 

“Well,” she said, “I should think of some secrets to confess to you. He’ll need to be very convincing.”


	51. Traitors 4

It was early in the morning when the door creaked open a week later. Daine barely stirred, used enough to Ronan coming to heal her that hearing the door open didn’t make her feel the same rush of wakeful terror that haunted her evenings. A hand lightly brushed her hair away from her face. 

“Wake up, petal.” Orsille said, grinning when she flinched away. “I’ve brought you a gift.” 

It was a dress, made of a greenish-yellow fabric. Daine blinked at it, wondering if she was still asleep as the official held it out with a patient smile. 

“It’s very becoming, my dear. Don’t you want it?” He asked, with the same expression playing about his face. Daine pushed herself upright and further away, wrapping her arms around her knees and trying to break through her absolute bafflement. Her back thudded against a bucket, and she smelled hot soapy water.

“From you? No.” She croaked. He grinned and folded the dress neatly before putting it down beside her. 

“You need it, though. You’ve torn your own dress to shreds. You remember? You used it to send messages to your friends.” 

Daine paled, and then collected herself with a wry, mocking smile. “What messages? Are you so mad that you’re imagining things, now?”

He sighed and sat down, copying her posture with a playfulness that matched his voice. “I’m not angry with you. It’s been easier to watch which way the birds fly than to send scouts over the entire valley. You’ve been most helpful. Now, don’t you want to go outside?”

“Outside?” She echoed, and felt her eyes being drawn irresistibly towards the window that she’d never been able to reach. Her voice became quiet, almost tearfully wistful. “Yes, I... I want to go outside.”

“Then get washed and dressed.” He stood up briskly and dusted off his clothes, ignoring her stunned expression. “We’re going for a walk.” 

The dress was beautiful. Daine wondered if Orsille was making some twisted point, dressing her in a mockery of the clothes she had worn outside of the walls, or perhaps it was one of Karenna’s old dresses. The soft underdress has had gracefully tapered sleeves that fastened at her wrists with tiny bead buttons, while the overdress was a deeper green which was held shut in an empire-line by a brown cord edged with yellow shells. She scrubbed the dirt from her body and hair and drew the fabric on. 

The overdress felt oddly scratchy as she slipped it over her head, and she frowned and pulled the neckline away from her chest. The underside of the fabric seemed to shimmer in front of her eyes for a moment, and then it faded to look like normal fabric. The hemline, unlike the rest of the garment, was sewn with clumsy, hasty stitches. Something about it made Daine frown. Some of the stitches looked almost like… 

“Are you done?” Orsille’s voice was impatient, and she jumped and quickly tied the dress shut with aching fingers. She was tempted to goad him, to tell him she’d be quicker if he’d allowed Ronan to heal her hands, but she pressed her lips tightly together. The last thing she wanted was for him to change his mind. The thought of walking in the sunlight and feeling the breeze on her skin was too much to resist. She finished the last tie and nodded. 

He looked her up and down and then raised his fingers to her cheek, pursing his lips as he studied the remains of the livid bruise he’d given her. His magic flared for a moment, and Daine shut her eyes against the brightness of it. 

“You’re healing me?” She asked incredulously. “You found out I’ve been sending notes to your enemies and you cure me?” 

“Don’t move.” He ordered flatly, and moved to cure her swollen hands. A small wan smile crossed his face when she winced at the bones moving into place. “I always found it very ironic that I was born a healer. I imagine the gods are enjoying a joke at my expense.” 

“Perhaps it was a hint.” She muttered, but the man ignored her. Letting go of her hands, he took a step back and looked her critically up and down. 

“Well, you still look like a cheap whore to me, but I know that idiot won’t be able to tell the difference.” 

“He who?” Daine could hardly whisper the words, because it felt like her throat had suddenly closed up. The official smiled broadly and unlocked the chain from her ankle, leaving the heavy iron manacle around her leg and pocketing the key with a cheerful whistle. 

Being freed from the tower was everything Daine had dreamed about, and more. If it hadn’t been for the official pushing her impatiently down the path she would have stopped, stunned by the sweet scent of summer flowers and the softness of dust under her feet. She would have dawdled and stared at the grass-velveted mountains, and the dancing bees in the air. As it was, she stumbled down the trail whenever Orsille shoved her, and took deep breaths of the fresh air. She barely even noticed where they were going, until the trail became paved underfoot, and the shadow of stone walls fell across her face. 

The keep was a lot busier than she had ever known it. The courtyard was full of people: men who sharpened blades and fletched arrows, mages who muttered under their breath and fiddled with the chains that looped their wrists. There were far more servants than she had seen before, too, running around with flasks of ale and baskets of food for the soldiers. Daine covered her ears, unable to hear the noise after so many weeks of solitude. She saw a few of the other slaves look at her with curiosity, and some of the soldiers whispering behind their hands when they saw who she was with, but Orsille pushed her through the crowd before she could understand what they were saying. 

“Here we are,” he said, his voice still eerily cheerful. “Just up the stairs, sweet creature, and we’ll be there. I expect you’re feeling tired from that walk!” 

Daine didn’t answer, but she had to be careful not to stumble as she raised her feet to climb the long spiral staircase. Orsille was right. Perhaps it had been the sunlight, or the exercise, or the sudden darkness of the stairwell, but she felt heavy and sluggish as if she’d run for miles instead of walking. She climbed steadily, not letting herself slow down, and reeled when a beam of sunlight shone through a window and hit her eyes. It seemed too bright to her tired mind, and she had to stop and catch her breath. 

She looked back to ask the official if they could wait a moment, so she could rest, but when she opened her mouth no sound came out. She took a sharp breath, panic flooding through her, but before she could try again the man impatiently caught the crook of her elbow and dragged her up the stairs. When they reached the landing he let her drop to the ground, ignoring her as she cradled her head in her hands and tried desperately to make a sound. 

“What’s wrong with her?” The light voice echoed in the stone room, and Daine looked up to see Karenna frowning at her. The woman stood with her hands on her hips, foot extended as if she’d been pacing across the floor. Orsille laughed softly and Daine slowly lowered her hands from her mouth as she understood what had happened. 

_The dress._ She thought, and plucked mutely at the roughly-sewn collar. The runes stitched into the fabric tickled when they fell back against her skin, and she glared accusingly at the official, who simply laughed more and patted his daughter’s shoulder reassuringly. 

“I didn’t break my word, my dear. I wouldn’t dare cross that man!” His voice became heavily sarcastic for a moment, and he grinned widely. “She’s just tired. I said I wouldn’t hurt her, and I didn’t. She won’t run. She won’t make plans. He asked to see her. He didn’t say _how.”_

Karenna shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself as if it had been the draught biting through her silk dress. “If you say so,” she said doubtfully, her eyes nervous as she couldn’t help looking at Daine. 

“But...” 

“You’re too soft-hearted.” There was no reproach in the man’s tone, but it was clear that the conversation was over. Karenna shut her mouth with an audible snap, and crossed to the window to peer out into the courtyard. 

“We should go out to meet him.” She said, her voice soft. “Who knows what your brutes of soldiers will do if you’re not there to control them?” 

Orsille made some nothing-reply and they left in a rustle of silks. Daine sank slowly to the ground, feeling her arms tremble as they took her weight. The cool stone floor kept her awake, not letting her get comfortable, and she was grateful. She raised a hand to her chest and picked at the collar, trying to destroy some of the stitches. When her nails caught one of the spelled patterns a shock ran through her fingers, as if she’d been caught by static electricity. She gasped and shook her numbed hand, but she knew that trying to destroy the spell was hopeless. When she tried to until the dress, or tug it off, the same thing happened. 

_Curse you, Orsille._ She thought bitterly, crawling on rubbery limbs to the wall so she could lean against it. The open window was just above her head, but she couldn’t find the energy to pull herself up to look out of it. She could hear the people speaking outside, and knew something must be happening, but she might as well have been chained to the wall in her old room. She was just as trapped as before! 

Her mind refused to work. She was still trying to work out who the man could be that Orsille had made a deal with, her bleary mind skipping between thoughts that danced like dreams, when the door creaked open. With an effort, she raised her head, and her heart almost stopped. 

It was Numair. Numair, standing in the doorway in his travelling clothes, one hand on the door handle, the other tucked in his pocket. Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat they stared at each other in frozen, breathless silence. Then there was a laugh – too bright, too shrill – and Karenna cheerfully pushed Numair forwards through the doorway. 

“Get a move on, silly!” she giggled in the fake voice she had used at Hazelle’s parties. The shove seemed to shake the man from his shock, and he stepped forward, drawing a single harsh breath. 

“I am sorry, Mistress Karenna. It’s dark in here.” He said in a respectful tone. He edged closer to Daine, apparently giving the other woman room to move through the doorway. Orsille stepped through behind her, his eyes keenly fixed on Numair, and the mage stopped short halfway across the room. 

“Well, Leto?” The official drawled, leaning against the door frame. “You see? We kept our word. There the girl is, safe and sound. Do you trust us, now?”

Daine pressed her face to the wall, wishing the room would stop spinning so she could focus. She could see the glint of gold out of the corner of her eye, and realised that Numair had a gold chain wrapped around his wrist.

 _He surrendered._ She thought, seeing the warning look in Karenna’s eyes when she looked up, and understanding it. _They’re testing him._

She looked away. Better that they never make eye contact again than Numair betray himself with a single look. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Numair was speaking too loudly for Daine’s aching head. He couldn’t disguise the harshness in his voice, and his hands twitched as if he longed to reach out to her. Orsille raised an eyebrow and inspected his fingernails with careful nonchalance. 

“Out of everyone in this room, my dear Hawk Mage, she is the only one who didn’t choose to be here. She’s a runaway, silly creature.” He sighed, as if Daine were a child he was disappointed in, and then he stood up a little straighter. “We didn’t want her running away before you had a chance to see her, did we?” 

_“Are you hurt?”_

Daine blinked in a daze of darkness. She slowly realised that Numair had asked her the question directly, and looked up. Even in her spell-addled state the sight of him made her want to laugh irresistibly, but she couldn’t make a sound. She raised a clumsy hand towards him, wishing the air didn’t feel like treacle. Perhaps he would disappear if he touched her. It had happened before, in more dreams than she could possibly count. In a slow, timeless haze she waited for her desperate, pleading fingers to brush against the abyss. 

“I don’t know why you care.” The sharp voice was Karenna’s. The woman stepped forward and slapped Daine’s hand away, making sure the blow was loud rather than painful. Her eyes apologised to Daine even as she rounded on the man in fury. “Why? Why are you asking her? She’s a slave! And... and after what she did to you? The lies! And the way she tricked you...!” 

“Granted.” Numair replied in a voice that dripped with heavy patience. “And you’re right. I don’t care. Would I be here if I did? You’re right, she’s just a slave. But that slave is still carrying my child, Mistress Karenna, and I do want to know if it’s unharmed. I made one condition for my surrender, and only one. If the girl is hurt then who’s to say what will happen to my child? So, in the circumstances, can you understand why I asked her? I won’t be tricked by you as well as by her.” 

Karenna scowled, folded her arms and nudged at Daine with her toe. The girl shrank back, and the woman pulled her foot away as if she’d been burned. Her voice was over-harsh, as if to cover her guilty movement. “Wake up, slave. You were asked a question.” 

Orsille sniggered. He had been watching the exchange with wry humour, and now he wandered idly towards Daine and patted her bowed head like she was a dog. “She won’t answer you, Hawk. Wolves don’t speak, and as you can see, I’ve trained this one to hold her lying tongue.” 

Numair glared at him. “I see nothing funny about this. Muting spells are illegal for a _reason._ She found it difficult enough to speak as it is. You can’t just…” 

“You’re getting ideas above your station.” Orsille waved a hand vaguely. “I said I would show you the girl, and I have. I said she would be unhurt, and she is. I never said you could speak to her. And besides...” he leaned forward, and all the humour dripped from his voice in an instant. “You still need to prove that you’re going to keep your end of the bargain.”

“Father,” Karenna started, sounding uneasy as she glanced at Daine. “I don’t think...” 

“Show me.” The official’s eyes gleamed as he stepped closer to the mage. Numair looked back with pure hatred in his eyes, and then he looked over at Daine one last time and a mask of impassiveness spread over his features. He shrugged. 

“You have a new pet mage, I guess. Do you want me to cast magic for you?” 

“No.” Orsille spat on the floor, and for a moment he looked like the monster Daine saw in her nightmares. Even Karenna took a step back, but Numair sighed and stuck his hands back in his pockets as the other man said, “I want to see the Hawk. Now.” 

“I can’t control it.” Numair’s voice was flat. “I might kill your soldiers, since they’re nearby. I might kill you. I’m not saying I won’t keep my end of the bargain, sir, just that I think that’s an idiotic way to ask me to prove it. With all due respect.” 

Orsille stared at him for a moment, and looked out of the window with an expression that was as close to a mental shrug as a lifted shoulder. A grin spread slowly across his face, until the points of all his teeth were visible. 

“No. The Hawk.” He repeated in a voice rich with greed. “Show me.”


	52. Traitors 5

Word got around, in quick whispers and nervous gasps of laughter. The notorious Hawk mage was going to show Lord Orsille his magic. How exciting! Both men and women whispered to each other from behind trembling hands, their faces split into grins of anticipation as they headed for the courtyard to watch. Oh, they knew it was dangerous. They had heard that someone might be killed. But the lure of the show was too strong, and so they came in droves to crowd into the square. 

Their leader walked through them, answering questions, and smiled at them benevolently. He climbed the steps to the curtain wall, joining the other people who waited at the top. The waiting crowd recognised some of them - the healer Dakinn and his assistant Ronan were there, and of course the lady in the gorgeous shining silk dress was Lord Orsille’s daughter.

They were so busy staring in awe at the last man – a tall, thin man who looked inscrutably back down at them – that they barely noticed the skinny girl who Ronan was holding upright. A few barbed comments were jeered up at her when the guard mages recognised the wolf creature, but most of them were fixated on the Hawk. 

“Send them away.” Numair’s voice was harsh, and he took a step towards Orsille. “Please, I’m begging you. It’s dangerous. There’s too many of them, and they don’t... they won’t know how to defend themselves.” 

“Then it’s about time they learned.” The official turned away, not caring, and cursed when Numair caught hold of his sleeve. 

“Then give me Annette.” The mage’s voice was low, intense. “You don’t want your people hurt. You need them to fight this war. She can stop me from losing control. Please. I don’t want to kill these people.” 

“Annette is _mine.”_ For a moment, the official’s face turned ugly, and his iron control wavered. Numair let go of his sleeve as if he’d been burned. The man glared at him, then strode over to Ronan and tore the fainting girl away from him. 

Daine stumbled as Orsille shoved her forward, hearing the jeers of the crowd as she fell to her knees. She didn’t have the strength to look up, but her face burned in shame as she heard the official shouting out to the crowd. 

“You see her? You see this creature? This man says she’s a witch! He says she’s got magic that’s strong enough to tame demons! Who thinks she could stop the Hawk Mage? Look at the state of her!” 

A thousand eyes turned to leer at Daine, and a chorus of mocking shouts sang up to the battlements. Orsille laughed broadly and joined in with the jeers, his voice crowing out across the courtyard as he pointed at Numair. 

“She came here pregnant with his bastard, the whore! It didn’t take more than a few weeks before she was lifting her skirts for anyone else who asked, and far more besides! Tell them it’s true, wolf cub.” He suddenly hauled her to her feet and pressed his hand to her throat, holding her up so that the crowd could stare at her. 

“You sold yourself to me, didn’t you?” He asked, raising his voice so that the crowd would be able to hear every word. Daine bit back bitter tears and nodded, not daring to open her eyes.

Orsilles voice grew richer, darker, pitched so that only Numair could hear. “Open your eyes and look at your precious Hawk, my petal. Tell him how you drank water from my hands. Tell him how you would lick the shit from my boots if I asked. Tell him how quickly you agreed to spread your legs to protect his bastard for a few pathetic months. Look him in those pretty eyes and show him exactly what kind of creature you are.” 

Daine sobbed and shook her head, but his hand pressed against her throat again, and she had to obey. She couldn’t speak, but as soon as her eyes met Numair’s she knew he could see how much of it was true. He was white as a sheet but she couldn’t bear the thought of trying to lie to him. Not now. He knew everything now, and if he hated her half as much as she hated herself he would never want to see her again. Orsille let her go and she fell back to the ground, hiding her face behind her short hair and sobbing silently against the stones. 

The official rounded on Numair and said furiously, “Do you understand now, _slave?”_

The crowd grew louder as some of them applauded mockingly. Numair stared back at the official in breathless, white-hot fury for a heartbeat, and then crouched down next to Daine and picked her up. She flinched away for a moment, but when she realised that he wasn’t disgusted by her she gripped his hand so tightly it hurt. 

_Don’t do it,_ she pleaded with him the moment he touched her, feeling their silent link flare for the first time in months and using all her remaining strength to speak. _Please, please don’t be the Hawk._

 _I made my own deal. With the Hawk. I think I can do it._ He said, his mind-voice too calm and deliberately reassuring to be anything but terrifying. He carried her back to Ronan and hesitated, pretending he needed to shift her weight before handing her over. Daine rested her head against his shoulder for a too-brief second. 

_I’m so sorry._ She said, and even to her the words sounded weak, exhausted. He held her tighter for a fleeting second but made no reply. Then she was back in Ronan’s hold, and the healer was setting her gently on her feet. The crowd turned into a buzz of wordless noise in her ears as she watched Numair walk away and stand on the very edge of the curtain wall. He looked back at Orsille for a second, waiting for the official’s arrogant nod, before his eyes narrowed and he jumped. 

The crowd screamed in horror, and then their screams turned to cries of shock as a great black creature streamed back up the wall into the sky. Above their cries, the Hawk shrieked a long note of pure ecstasy. It span in the sunlight, flying in the daytime for the first time in months, and glided effortlessly around the towers of the keep. 

“Wonderful,” Orsille breathed, stepping to the edge of the wall and gripping the battlement with whitening knuckles. His lips curved into a smile as he took in the creature’s distorted size, the long claws that grew from emaciated fingers. Not human, not a bird, the creature danced in the air and screamed at the people who milled below it like corralled cattle. They started laughing, pointing at the soaring creature with wondering eyes and telling each other how they were sure to beat the Tortallans now! And then their laughter slowly turned to murmurs. The hawk had stopped shrieking and started circling, making lazy loops over them as it gradually drifted closer and closer. 

“What’s he going to do?” Ronan asked Daine softly, knowing Orsille was too captivated to hear him. She shook her head tearfully, her heart filled with dread as she managed to take the few steps towards the edge of the wall. She looked down to see the people, and for every soldier or mage there was a servant or a laundry maid looking innocently up into the sky. 

The Hawk did nothing. It circled, and circled, and glared down with black baleful eyes at the silent crowd. They stared back, frozen, unable to move. Then the creature made a sound. 

It wasn’t a laugh. Laughter was a pleasant sound, and this had nothing good in it. It was a curdled cry of mocking hatred, and it echoed through the silent stone courtyard until it sounded like it had come from a thousand warped throats. A few people whimpered, and Orsille leaned forward breathlessly to see more clearly. 

The creature circled one last time. It took a deep breath. Without warning, a dense glow of black fire flared out around it, making the air crackle with burning heat. The hawk screamed another mocking laugh and sent a bolt of pure fire down into the courtyard. The fire splashed in the courtyard, raining down like water on the people who screamed and ran, only to find that they were trapped by their own numbers. And still the hawk circled lower, eying the people like a hunting bird of prey and still screaming that mocking laugh. The fire kept burning, caught in the supplies of hay and the small wooden stands the fletchers had been using. A man darted around the blaze, heedless of a wounded woman’s grasping fingers at his feet as he fled only to find himself being lifted into the air in the hold of vicious claws. He screamed and grabbed at the claws, and the hawk let him go over the curtain wall. 

The man crashed into the wall with a horrible sound, and Karenna shrieked as her dress was covered in gore. She stared at the twitching body in horror, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly, and then she fainted to the ground. The hawk laughed loudly and flew merrily over the corpse. 

The sight of seeing his daughter pass out seemed to change something in Orsille. Before, he had been staring at his new weapon in pure glee, licking his lips at every move the creature made and grinning whenever it laughed. But now he looked around, distracted, at Karenna. He whitened, and then he seemed to notice the chaos in the courtyard for the first time. 

“No,” he muttered. “That’s enough!” 

The last words were shouted up to the hawk, who screamed back at him and then swooped away to pour more of that liquid fire onto one of the towers. Some of the soldiers cried out, and raised their longbows to try to shoot the creature down. Their arrows fell short, and the creature laughed mockingly and spat down at them. They screamed and fled as if the spittle had burned them when it landed. 

Orsille ran to Daine, pulling her back from the battlements impatiently. 

“You!” He demanded. “He said you could make him stop. Do it!” 

The girl blinked, and then laughed in silent hysteria and dropped to the ground. She plucked at the collar of her dress, looking up at the panicked official in dizzy mockery as the runes burned her fingers. Orsille swore and snapped his fingers, and Daine dropped her hand as the spell on her dress flared into red-hot light. Then the light faded, and her head cleared. It was as if she had been under water, and now she could hear again. She looked up, confused, and realised that she hadn’t dreamed it all. She was wide awake and she could think again. 

“Fix this.” Orsille said through gritted teeth. 

For the first time Daine didn’t fight him. She nodded and stood up, resting her hand on the rough stone of the battlement as she looked around for the Hawk. It was roosting on top of the burning tower, watching something. With a rush of sickness the girl realised it was a woman, who the hawk had carried onto the smouldering roof. The woman was crying and begging the Hawk to take her down even as she slipped down the tiles towards the fall. 

Daine took a deep breath and called her magic, slamming the pure power into the Hawk’s mind in a single command. _Save her!_

The Hawk shrieked and clawed at its ears, drawing blood, but it drew itself up and caught the woman in none-too-gentle claws. It dropped her to the ground from a safe height, and then swooped towards the bronze human in a wave of absolute fury. It skimmed towards the wall, and Daine was aware of the other humans diving for cover as she stood, perfectly still, waiting. The hawk raised his claws to strike, and she held up her hand. 

“No.” She whispered, and the creature recoiled as if it had hit a wall. She felt her heart twist as it cried out in pain. It fluttered to the bloodstained curtain wall and cradled its head as if the flare of bronze magic still burned it. 

“Poor thing,” she murmured, walking towards it with slow, careful steps. The creature spun and snapped at her, but she poured all the comfort and reassurance she could find into her gift, and when she reached out to touch its oversized wing she felt it shiver. “Poor thing, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

The hawk made a growling noise and snapped at her, but Daine stood her ground. She felt the claws passing inches from her skin as it slashed at her, but she didn’t move. 

“Sssh, sssh, my love.” She stroked its feathers. “I’m not going to run. I’m not your prey. I’m not a threat. I’m just here. I’ll make it right again.” 

The creature shivered, almost relaxing for a moment, and then it tensed and screamed in fury. Daine flinched and looked around, and then turned back and pressed her cheek against the Hawk’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around it as far as she could reach to stop it from leaping forward at the official. 

“Go and hide, Orsille.” She said, her voice quiet but sharp as she tried to find her calmness again. “You’re making it worse. If you don’t want to be killed for starting this nightmare then you should leave. Now. Walk, don’t run, or he’ll chase you. I won't stop him.” She smiled up at the Hawk, knowing that it shared her hatred of the official. Her voice caressed the last few words that she called out to Orsille. “He wants to kill you.” 

She knew when the man had gone because the Hawk relaxed, and its feathers gradually began to lie flat against its skin. Daine waited for a long time, breathing evenly and simply holding the creature, feeling it grow more peaceful with every moment that passed. The courtyard was nearly empty now, with the only sound being the cries of the people who the healers were dragging away. A soft breeze played over the battlements. 

“Did you have fun?” She asked eventually, not looking up. She didn’t want to know what expression the Hawk wore when it thought about the people it had killed. “I promised you that you could play, didn’t I? But I think Numair promised you something too, right? And you made a promise back?” 

The Hawk made a noise. It wasn’t an agreement, but there was something in it. It was some hint of disappointment, like a child being told to go to bed early. Daine breathed a sigh of relief and looked up, to see the Hawk’s black eyes looking back at her. 

“Wassss... goinnnggg... to...!” it whined, its voice petulant. “But funnnnn... fiiiiiirst...?” 

“Well, that’s just not fair.” She told it sternly. “I’m fair sure Numair kept his side of the deal.” 

The Hawk blinked, and then it laughed its horrible rattle of sadistic glee. “He.... will!” 

Before she could demand to know what it meant by that, the Hawk shuddered, and shrank in a blaze of black light. Daine gasped and let go of it, feeling the magic against her skin like a rush of cool wind. The light faded, and Numair stumbled to his knees. She threw her arms around him, sobbing and laughing in turns, kissing his cheek and his forehead and shaking hysterically. 

“Oh, I thought you weren’t coming back!” She sobbed, and kissed him again. “I thought they would kill you first!” 

“Daine...” he whispered, his voice hoarse with confusion. “Daine, what happened?” 

“No,” she pleaded, knowing the massacre would horrify him. She was glad that they were huddled in the lee of the wall, hidden from the towers and unable to see into the courtyard at all. “Don’t ask that, not yet. Not...” 

“Are you alright?” He persisted, cupping her cheek with one hand. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

She nestled against his hand, feeling him relax at the tender gesture. “I’m fine,” She said. “They took the spell off me when they panicked. I didn’t even have to use much magic on you to make you stop. The hawk decided to honour your deal... whatever _that_ is.” 

He frowned, ignoring her pointed question. “When they panicked?” she looked away, and he shook his head. “No, don’t do that. Tell me, magelet.” 

“The Hawk killed some people.” She said slowly. “And set the keep on fire. And laughed a lot.” 

Numair shivered and looked like he was going to be sick. “I told Orsille this would happen. Why did he make me do it?”

“Why did you agree?” She retorted. “Why did you come back? I told you not to, you dolt! They would have tortured you! I had to tell Orsille...” 

“I know.” He interrupted her, his voice soft as he stopped her tirade. He caught her hands and held them still, gently avoiding the swollen bruises around her fingers. “I know you’re angry, sweetling. I really do understand. But I couldn’t stay in the camp. It was bad enough before, but when you told me...” he looked away and took a deep breath. “Well, it was unthinkable to stay in safety doing nothing while you were here with that monster.” 

Daine didn’t say anything for a long time, staring at their linked hands. Numair didn’t ask her about what Orsille had said about her, and she wondered if he’d forgotten that along with the rest of the Hawk’s memories. Deep down she knew that he hadn’t, that the tension in his body hid some deep hurt, but she didn’t dare ask what it was. Perhaps he felt the same way. The pattern of a feather trailed up one of his hands, running from his wrist to the base of his little finger in a mocking black line. She traced it gently with one finger, and he flinched.

“You aren’t safe.” She said, “I felt it, when the birds flew for me. The Hawk is stronger now, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” his voice was blunt, and he didn’t look away from her slightly accusing eyes. “Much stronger. But it will let me shapeshift and come back to a human shape for a few more weeks. That was the deal. By then Alanna will have attacked, and either way... either way, we won’t be able to make much difference.” 

“So after a few weeks, you won’t be able to ever shapeshift again?” Daine asked, not understanding. Numair thought about correcting her, but then he took in the thinness of her face, and the starved look in her shining eyes that needed hope, and love, more than anything else in the world. He smiled and brushed a curl of her hair behind her ear. 

“That’s right, sweetling.” 

“A few weeks,” she said, sighing at the amount of time but brightening at the idea of the hawk being banished forever. She cuddled up against him, wrapping her hands around his so that the feather mark was lost under her bruised fingers. 

Numair kissed her forehead and held her tightly, pushing away all his questions and secrets obstinately. Without those dark voices gloating in his mind he was almost overwhelmed with the feeling of finally being able to hold the woman he loved in his arms. He marvelled at every breath she took, the warm weight where she pressed against him and the way that her eyes softened when she looked at him, as if she could hardly believe he was really there. Something made her smile sweetly, and she entwined her hand into his own – the hand without the feather – and pressed it to the curve of her stomach. 

“Can you feel that? It started kicking,” Daine whispered, feeling Numair catch his breath when the baby moved. He looked down at her with shining eyes, and she smiled. “I wanted to tell you, but you wouldn’t let me send the birds.” 

He looked at her with a question half-formed in his eyes, but something in her expression stopped him from asking how she’d been using her magic. Besides, another question was leaping into his mind, and he asked it in a rush before he said something he might regret. 

“This is real, isn’t it? It feels like I’m dreaming.” 

She smiled ruefully and traced the shape of his face with light fingertips, memorising it. Her words were bitter as she forced herself to look away towards the nearest tower, where she knew Orsille was hiding. “if we are dreaming then he’ll be coming to wake us up soon.” 

“Perhaps I shouldn’t kiss you, then.” He teased, “Since I always wake up in the best parts of my dreams.” 

Instead of retorting to that, Daine leaned forward, placing an infinitely tender kiss on his forehead like a blessing. “I love you,” she whispered, not drawing back and feeling his arms tighten around her back. “I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to tell you that again. Whatever Orsille tells you... whatever I’ve done, I just wanted you to know that. Because if this is the last time we’re alone...” 

“It won’t be.” He interrupted her. “We’re getting out of here. Together.” 

She stared at him, and knew that he could see the doubt in her eyes. But she was also thinking of the last time they had been locked up. She had thought everything was hopeless. He’d promised to take her away, and he had. 

She hadn’t believed him then. She would force herself to believe him now. 

She smiled and nodded, and if she hesitated then he didn’t comment on it. He kissed her instead, drawing her closer so slowly, so tenderly, that the world seemed to fade away. There wasn’t a prison, or a war. The sounds of the fire and the howl of the mountain wind were quietened. The fear and the Hawk fled. All that was left was the loving embrace of his arms moving across her shoulders and around her back, the softness of his hair under her hands, and the warmth of his lips pressed against hers.


	53. Traitors 6

Numair soon fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from the hawk draining his magic. Daine stayed awake, one hand resting lightly in his, thinking as rapidly as she could. She was ready to wake him up as soon as anyone ventured onto the wall, but in truth she watched Numair as carefully as she did the battlements. She was terrified that his eyes would open into the black orbs of the hawk’s, and that this time she wouldn’t be able to bring him back.

She heard the sounds of the slaves, sent to clear away the gore and chaos in the courtyard. They didn’t say much, but she could hear them retching and cursing at what they saw. Daine was glad that Numair had fallen asleep before he’d thought to look over the wall. 

She tensed when the door opened, and stood up as a stream of soldiers trudged out along the wall. They approached the mages warily, their swords drawn and lowered towards them in case they were attacked. Each one was watched Numair with wide eyes until they saw that he was still and silent. Then they called to Orsille, their voices respectful as they reported that it was safe for him to come out of the tower. 

Something was different in the way the soldiers spoke. Before, they had been laughing and jovial, following the orders of the official cheerfully and without any doubt that he was right. Now they eyed him uneasily, through suspiciously narrowed eyes. They wandered about the wall, avoiding the bloodstains as they talked to each other in little knots. Daine stopped herself from watching them as Orsille strode up to her. 

The man took in the scene with a thinly veiled sneer, but didn’t comment on the way his slave had wrapped herself around another man. She had stopped the hawk; that was what mattered. He could be magnanimous. 

“Is he alive?” He asked in a terse voice. 

The girl stared at him accusingly for a moment before nodding. He made a tight-lipped smile and gestured to some of the guards to pick up the exhausted mage. Numair cried out when they touched him, waking up in a confused blur, but quickly came to his senses and stared around at the group, his eyes darting between the men and Daine. 

“Where’s Lady Karenna, sir?” Daine asked Orsille. Her voice was soft but clear in the crowd. The bloodstain had reminded her that the girl had fainted, and although Daine hadn’t seen her being carried away the woman was nowhere to be seen. Orsille made a dismissive gesture, but he was unable to hide his distraction at his daughter’s name, and so he answered grudgingly. 

“She’s asleep. Recovering after that... creature...” he turned to glare at Numair, who looked blankly back, but before he could finish his sentence Daine laughed harshly. She linked her hands behind her back so Orsille couldn’t see how much they were shaking, and made her voice loud enough for the guards to hear. 

“You’re blaming _him?_ He told you what would happen! He warned you. He told you to move the people to safety. You were the one who refused. It was your fault, not his.” 

A few of the soldiers whispered to each other, their eyes questioning as they took in what the slave was saying. Their captain barked an order and they settled into silence, but there was no doubt that they were paying careful attention to what was going on. 

“You’re going to make me angry.” Orsille said, tethered impatience in his voice as he shot the soldiers a quick glance. “Do you think I won’t punish you just because there are other people here?”

“It’s the truth. Some of us aren’t liars.” She shrugged and swallowed back bitter bile, feeling sick with fear. All the same, since Karenna had spoken to her she felt some protective warmth towards the spoiled noblewoman. Out of all the people on the wall, strangely, Karenna had been the only one who was truly innocent, and she’d been the closest to being hurt. The thought of it stung, and she felt a new surge of anger towards the man. 

“You could have protected them. All you cared about was getting your own selfish way. You got those people killed, and you nearly killed your own daughter. You don’t care about her at all, do you?” Daine asked, and the genuine accusation in her voice made the official whiten. He whirled around and seized the girl by the neck of her dress, lifting her bodily off the ground and hauling her towards the edge of the wall. Daine heard a shout and scuffle behind her as the soldiers stopped Numair from running forward, and then she felt the sick rush of cold air against her back. 

She looked down, and the rocks at the base of the cliff seemed to drag at her hanging feet. “D...don’t...” she whispered, looking up into eyes that burned with fury. She gripped his wrists with numbed hands, “Please, don’t...” 

“Why not?” He spat, his words drawn out with rage. He shook her violently, and she yelped as the movement dislodged stones from the wall. They clattered down into oblivion, and she couldn’t even hear them land. The rough wind tore tears from her eyes. 

“Please...” she choked, fear stopping the breath in her lungs, and all that she could produce was a strangled whisper, “Please...” 

“Sir!” Behind Orsille’s twisted face a hand appeared, and settled on his shoulder. The speaker carried on urgently, “Sir, what if you need to use the Hawk again? Won’t you need her? The men say...”

“I could stop that creature with a single poisoned arrow.” The official’s voice was ugly as he turned his head to look, still holding Daine over the edge of the wall. “Don’t those idiotic soldiers trust me enough not to rely on a lying bitch of a slave?” 

“No, yes... well yes sir, they do, but...” the man babbled, and the hand vanished from Orsille’s shoulder. Now it was gone Daine could see the faces of the men gathered around him, staring at her in varying degrees of horror, fear and indifference. She gasped in a breath and forced herself not to look down. Her hands shook so badly that if Orsille did let her go, she wouldn’t be able to hold on to him for more than a second.   
The men started to speak, all at once, but it was a single voice that broke through their words and stunned them into silence. A low, dangerous hiss of a voice. 

_“Kill... her...”_

Orsille jumped, and Daine felt his hands tremble in fear as he looked around. She couldn’t see what he was seeing, but she recognised that deadly voice, and it made her shudder. 

“Kill her... let me be free... I will dance... in her... blood...” 

There was a flat, percussive sound as one of the soldiers hit out blindly at the hawk, and Daine heard Numair gasp for breath as the savage strike brought him back to himself. She shut her eyes, feeling the hot tears freezing on her wind-burned cheeks, and then she was moving. Falling! She shrieked and held out her hands, and they recoiled sharply off the paving stones of the wall as she landed next to Orsille’s feet. He kicked her viciously and she rolled away, laughing and crying at being safe, not falling to her death. 

The official spat at her and turned on his heel, his hands still shaking in delayed fear. He didn’t look back, but his voice was vicious. 

“Chain them both up in the pit. Let them _rot_.” 

888

The pit was not really a cell, but a cave deep in the bowels of the keep. The ground was covered in a sheen of greasy, icy water that writhed with moss and strange creatures who fed off the filth of the prisoners who lurked in the shadows. When the great iron door opened and the guards shoved the two slaves through the older prisoners streamed to the door, begging for some food, or clean water, or even some rags to ward away the frozen chill. The soldiers shoved past them impatiently, dragging the two struggling prisoners to an ancient, rusted pillar that held up the dripping ceiling. Twisted loops of iron circled the pillar, but the chains that hung from the loops were new, and strong. When they were snapped around their wrists both Daine and Numair felt the odd tingle of the spelled iron.

The door had barely slammed shut before the other prisoners began to gather around them curiously. Remembering the last time she had been here, with the insane laundry witch Anja, Daine bared her teeth and hissed at them. They jabbered in half-insane laughter and scattered, watching and listening from a safe distance. 

“Speak quietly,” Daine said softly, “They get rewarded for reporting back information.” 

Numair didn’t answer. Daine wondered if he was still exhausted, and then caught sight of his furious expression. She turned away and pretended to examine the iron pillar, knowing full well that it wouldn’t have any weaknesses, but not able to look Numair in the eye. 

Numair caught her arm impatiently, stopping her play-acting, and his mind-voice was clipped with anger. _Why are you fighting with Orsille? He nearly killed you! You know it just makes it worse. If you would just..._

 _If I would just?_ She echoed, hardly able to believe what he was saying. She wanted to drag her arm away from him, but she had to keep their connection to demand: _Are you saying that it’s my fault?_

 _No, but I’m saying you’re making it worse. _He retorted, fingers twitching against her skin. _We told you not to fight them. We told you. Alanna will be here soon, and this will be over. You can stop... stop antagonising the man, Daine!_

 _No._ She cut him off with more than words, with a burst of pure fury that made him physically recoil. She realised that he didn’t understand. Or perhaps he couldn’t understand. It must hurt him to think of what Orsille really was around her. Still, her voice was fierce.   
_  
I obeyed him for so long. Too long. You saw the creature they turned me in to before. That’s what he wants. He doesn’t care if I obey him or not. He just wants to turn me back into a slave, and I won’t do it. I can’t let him win._

Numair’s hand tightened on her arm for a moment, but she couldn’t tell if it was a warning or sympathy until he said, still trying to argue: _But perhaps... if you just pretended, then he wouldn’t..._

 _Pretended?_ She could barely believe what he was saying. _Pretended what, Numair? That I really am some mindless slave? Oh yes, I can see how well that would work. Orsille’s little whore, obeying his every whim and giving him my body to enjoy like it was some piece of meat I sold at market. Perhaps I could even convince him I enjoy it! Then it couldn’t possibly be my fault, could it? Because fighting back just makes it worse, is that right? You and Alanna could sleep soundly at night knowing that I’m following your plan to the letter, and I would loathe myself for the rest of my days. _

Daine met his horrified eyes for a moment and then sobbed aloud and sank to the floor. She gripped her head in her hands and her shoulders shook but after that first cry her tears were absolutely silent.

“He won’t stop. He won’t. No matter what I do. I tried, and he won’t…” she whispered over and over again, and then the words poured out of her in a flood. “He won’t stop. He enjoys it. And it’s his way of having power over everyone, not just me. Over Alanna, and Hazelle, and especially you. Alanna sent spies into one of the towns and found out his troop movements, so that night he broke my arm. Even when he didn’t tell me what was going on I could tell when he was in a bad mood, because those were the nights he hurt me more. He hurt me, and it made him feel good.” 

She looked up then, and her grey eyes were furious in the dim light. “Do you understand now or do I have to tell you what else that man does to me? There’s no clever way to think around him. There’s no _logic_ to his desires. None at all! He hates me so much and then he acts like he loves me. I hate how cruel he is but I’m far more terrified by his kindness. I’m so afraid all the time because I never ever know what he wants from me. 

“So I fight. I claw at him and curse at him. I try to get under his skin and sometimes I feel like I might have hurt him, just a little. Just enough to keep me going. What else could I do, Numair? I had to _survive!_ Whatever you and Alanna say you weren’t here to help me! Oh gods, Numair, where were you? I needed you so badly but _you weren’t here…”_

She bit back another cry and clutched at the pillar they were chained to, letting its cold sink into her hands and numb them until they ached. When he reached for her and tried to pry her hands away from the dank stone she wept and shoved at him and beat against his chest. “You weren’t here! You weren’t even _you!_ You… you…” she lost any sensibility and sobbed. 

He caught her wrists and then lifted her up into his arms, cradling her like a child as she cried against his shoulder. If he had said anything – an apology, an excuse, an accusation – she might have hated him forever, but he was silent. He just held her, warm and mute and implacable in the darkness. 

“They’ll be coming to take me away again.” she whispered finally, not raising her head from his shoulder. He nodded, shifted her weight in his arms and sat down, carefully avoiding their chains. 

“What do you want to do?” He asked, and there was a careful distance in his voice. Daine shook her head. 

“I don’t know. I can’t think about it.”

“But you have to,” he murmured, and he rested his cheek against her head. “They didn’t activate my chain after Orsille made me become the hawk. I can use my magic - if you think that would help?” 

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to ask me.” she said savagely. “You promised me you wouldn’t be the hawk. You _promised.”_

He bit his lip and then drew back so he could look into her eyes. “I know how angry you are, Daine. Really, I know how it must look to you. But this deal I made… the Hawk can help us. I wouldn’t have done it if there had been anything else – any other way I could have helped you. But… but there wasn’t anything else I could do.”

“You? But you _weren’t_ you!” 

“And would you feel happier if I had slaughtered those Officials with my own two hands?” He retorted. “Whether I was Numair or the cursed Hawk I would hate myself if I hadn’t tried everything in my power to get you back! You made that vile deal with Orsille to protect the baby, didn’t you? Why blame me for making a deal with the Hawk to protect you?” 

“That’s not the only reason why I’m doing it.” She snapped. “I’m not just thinking about myself. He’s started to make mistakes. He’s getting angry. Every time he loses his temper he makes a mistake. Like bringing you here, or... or locking us up together. He always thinks twenty steps ahead, I’m fair certain... but not when he’s angry. When he’s angry he lashes out, and it makes him weak. If he’s weak... he’s vulnerable.”   
She couldn’t stop smiling at the thought, even knowing that Numair was looking at her in something close to horror.

“You can’t be serious,” he said, his voice harsh in the echoing stone cell. “You’re baiting him on purpose? Daine, if he knew that he’d kill you!” 

“No...” she smiled, and her voice was dark. “He tried. He was furious, but he couldn’t make himself do it. He stopped and healed me.” 

“Have you gone mad?” he hissed. “I can’t believe you’re saying this. Dear Shakith, it’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard. He would have thrown you off the wall if I hadn’t...” 

“Greetings!” A high voice trilled, and both the mages flinched as they looked up. A man smiled down at them, his thin face open and cheerful as if he were welcoming them to a country inn. “You must be new here!”

They both stared at him for a long moment, and then Daine started laughing helplessly. The laughter echoed in the room, sounding more like an eerie howl than a young woman’s laughter, and Numair put his hand on her shoulder to calm her down. There was something about the echo that made his blood curdle, and he suddenly realised what it was. 

“That sounds like...” he said, and looked up at the man who had greeted them. “Sir, where is this place?” 

The man tilted his head to one side like a dog, and spat into the pool of water that made up the floor. “Fairy land, lad.” He said sardonically. “Can’t you tell?”

“No, I meant...” Numair stopped and tugged at his nose thoughtfully, cursing his weariness for slowing down his thoughts. “This is a cave, right? At the very bottom of the keep? So we’re inside the cliff?” 

“Guess so.” The man shrugged.”Doesn’t really matter. Cliff or castle, I don’t think you’ll be moving more than a breath away from those manacles for a while. You must have done something entertaining to get those baubles round your ankles.” 

“He won’t tell you,” Daine cut in quickly, stopping Numair from answering with a quick warning look. “So don’t ask. I know stories are worth more than gold down here.”

The man sniggered, and the sound echoed back in the same horrifying howl that had chased Numair and Rain from the caves weeks before. “You’ve been here before.” 

She leaned forward, and her voice became soft and coaxing. “Perhaps. But I’ve also seen the sunset. I’ve seen all the colours. I know what season it is outside. Do you want to hear?”

“Yes...” the man leaned forward eagerly, his eyes greedy, and in the shadows some of the other prisoners crept forward. Daine smiled sweetly, and pressed her lips together with decided muteness. 

“Well, you’ll have to barter for it, and there’s only one thing that we want. We’ll trade you our stories if you find some way to help us.”


	54. Entombed 1

The other prisoners vanished into the honeycomb of tunnels, and although they caught glimpses of them from time to time, neither Daine nor Numair could coax them to speak to them. Some of the men and women were beyond speech, gibbering like maniacs as they chewed strips of moss they’d peeled from the walls. Some of them stared blankly at the new prisoners, their eyes as bleak and empty as the snowfields of the north. 

Even the ones who spoke, who tried to bargain for stories, kept their distance. They had no way to break the chains, and although they brought them a few handfuls of clean, brackish water from one of the tiny streams in the cave, they mainly kept their distance. 

“Tell me what happened to you.” Numair said after they awoke a third time in that same darkness. His voice was odd, as if he’d had to work up the courage to ask. “Tell me all of it, Daine.”

“Why? I already told you I won’t do it. It’ll hurt you to hear it. What good will knowing it do you?” 

“None, really. You’re right.” He was silent for a long time and then said even more slowly, “Please tell me what happened, Daine. Hurt me if you have to, but let me know that some of my nightmares, at least, aren’t true.” 

“I don’t know your nightmares.” She sighed and rested her hands on her knees, leaning her cheek against the cool pillar. Her eyes shut uselessly against the darkness, she recounted as much as she could bear to remember, starting with the way Parsey had blackmailed her into submitting to him and ending with the way she had tricked Orsille. 

“You did both of those things for me,” Numair’s voice sounded a little hollow. Daine shrugged, feeling as if her skin had become some kind of callous shell. She hadn’t told him about her plan with the People.

“Are we going to point fingers? You betrayed Alanna for me, and you came back even knowing that Orsille wouldn’t honour his deal with you further than he could spit. How noble of both of us!” Her voice took on a mocking note. “And let’s not forget you turned into the Hawk and murdered old men in their beds, and that you sold me for a useless stretch of land. But I’m no better, am I? I… I sold myself, I risked my child’s life and I sent Alanna secrets which told her where to send soldiers. They burned Gallan soldiers alive in their beds, I know it. We’re both vile. Noble and vile. And I guess that makes us the same. We’re even, Hawk Mage.” 

“Don’t call me that. There was a reason...”

“Oh, reasons! There was a reason why I lifted my skirts for Orsille.” Daine said, deliberately crude. “I’m fair certain that knowing that reason doesn’t make you feel the least bit better about the fact that I did it.” 

“No.” He admitted, and for the first time he let the raw anger in his voice break through. “No, it doesn’t. I can’t… I don’t know how to understand. I don’t know how to forgive you for it. There were so many other things you might have done instead.” 

“Yes.” She whispered, “And I could say exactly the same thing to you.” Her throat closed up for a moment, and the tears in her words bubbled up like laughter. “Dear gods, Numair, a few months ago we had the same mind and the same heartbeat and now we even hate each other the same!” 

“This isn’t hate. It hurts too much. I can’t hate you any more than I can forgive you.” 

She curled up beside him and felt the strength in the arm that immediately circled around her, the fire which days of darkness couldn’t extinguish. He was warm and living and his breath hitched unevenly in his chest, but his heart raced in the same upset pattern that hers did. 

“You belong to me,” she told him, “Not the version of you that I have in my head, all noble and courageous and always doing the right thing. That one couldn’t ever belong to me. It’s just a story. But this one… this you, the one who I hate and love all at the same time, the one who I can’t understand or forgive… this one belongs to me. Just like I belong to you. I didn’t give you the perfect version of myself any more than you gave your perfect self to me. It’s just you, and just me, and that’s what we are and all we’ll ever be. That’s what we have.”

He turned a little, and Daine felt a hand at the side of her face. Gentle, cautious fingertips softly traced the outline of her face, then caressed her cheek before falling away. That was all. For hours afterwards neither of them said another word. 

Time passed, and as their wounds healed so did their hearts. Their anger faded more slowly, in silence and lingering blame. Both of them knew that there were questions that the other would never answer, and other things that they hoped they would never be asked. 

Forgiveness came even more cautiously, but when it arrived they both accepted it with lighter hearts. Underneath all of the arguments and accusations they hurled at one another, they both knew that they loved each other. That was enough to survive on, just as the thin moss and brackish water they traded for stories with the other prisoners was enough to keep them alive. 

They survived as rats might in a frozen warren, needing the comfort of another warm body for company and warmth and nothing beyond that. They rebuilt their closeness in silent feral stupor. 

Days passed, and they slowly realised that they could be forgotten in this place for the rest of their lives. One night the light that ringed the door was amber-orange with candlelight rather than bright with firelight, and then it was snuffed out entirely. The shock was instant; in the grey darkness of the pit they shuddered and bit back harshly drawn breaths. They both felt like they would never see light again. That night they clung to each other in something close to desperation, and if their clumsy lovemaking was heard by the other prisoners they barely cared. They needed to feel alive and vibrant, but without the light to sustain them they felt like they were fading away. They hungered for something to mark one endless dark minute from the next, but the lurking darkness heedlessly crept back over their entwined limbs and swallowed them whole. 

They could only tell how long they’d been locked in the eternal night by the growing hunger pains in their stomachs. After a while the cold and the damp seemed to seep into their bones, and although they huddled together they couldn’t stop shivering. The only escape from the cold and the hunger was in sleep, and when they finally closed their eyes they were both haunted by nightmares. They woke up, blind in the darkness. Their breath came in sobbing gasps, and even that sound echoed eerily from the walls.

Numair dreamed of the Hawk. It lurked in his nightmares, not bothering to hide any more, sadistically showing him every gruesome sight that it could remember. He would wake up with his teeth clenched so tightly together that they ached. He would be shaking, with the laughter of the Hawk echoing in his ears. But every time, Daine would gently reach up and kiss his frozen cheek, stroking his hair soothingly. Her voice was never frightened, but warm and soft. 

“Ssh, my love, it’s alright.” She said over and over again, until his panicking mind could focus on the words. “You’re fine, you’re here. You’re safe. You’re you.” And slowly he would remember, and believe her, and he would realise that he’d been almost crushing her in his arms as he fought the creature away. 

“Don’t I scare you?” He asked once, when he’d got his breath back. She smiled gently and shook her head. 

“I’ll never be scared of you.” She said. “I know you’ll never hurt me.” 

Numair smiled and kissed her forehead, but his thoughts were troubled. He’d heard the dark crow of the monster in his mind, and felt the deep hatred that the Hawk held for Daine. When the Hawk had asked Orsille to kill her it hadn’t been a trick or a sadistic game the creature was playing; it really meant it. As much as the creature had reluctantly agreed to their deal, the Hawk seemed to realise that if Daine was simply gone, it would be able to take over his mind without the copper fire resisting it. 

The mage frowned and rested his chin on the top of Daine’s head, feeling her breathing more evenly as she drifted back to sleep. He didn’t have to ask what she had nightmares about, any more than she had to ask him. Daine always curled up defensively in her sleep with one hand protecting the curve of her stomach. Her nightmares were silent, and he could never tell if she was having one until she fought to escape it. She shifted in his arms and then whimpered, tearing at his hands as if she could fight him off. 

“It’s me, sweetling.” He murmured, not trying to catch her hands or hold her still. He’d tried that once and she’d panicked. Now he let her fight. She suddenly gasped and stared at him, her eyes widening in surprise, and then shame. 

“I’m sorry.” She said. He shook his head and caught one of her shaking hands. 

“Don’t be.” 

She flushed and looked away, her breath still too quick. “Even when I’m with you he won’t leave me alone.” She said bitterly. “Do I even have to dream about him?”

He had no answer, so he held her closely and stroked her hair until the tangled curls lay smoothly across her forehead, telling her stories until her eyes flickered shut. Orsille’s malevolent ghost only haunted her dreams, but he taunted Numair’s waking thoughts until the grey light that was the only hint of day crept in through the edges of the door. 

It could have been days later, or weeks, when Daine was awoken from a restless sleep by a hand roughly dragging at her shoulder. She squeaked and her eyes flew open to see one of the nameless guards, who yanked her out of the warm shelter of Numair’s arms. He kept a hold of her shoulder as he unlocked her manacle and tucked the key in his pocket. 

“What...?” Daine gasped, still half asleep. She reached out and her clutching fingers found Numair’s hand. The guard scowled and pulled her away. 

“Where are you taking her?” Numair demanded, his own voice rough with weariness. The guard flinched and took a step back, then found some bravado. 

“Don’t take that tone with me. You may be the Hawk Mage, but you’re still just a slave.” He sneered. “My Lord Orsille wants this one to apologise for what she said.”

Daine froze, and her face went bone-white. Still, her stubborn will helped her to stand still for a second. Then the guard took her arm and her resolve seemed to shatter. She yanked her arm away and wrapped her fingers around an iron loop on the pillar, knuckles whitened with strain. 

“Please,” she whispered, “Please don’t make me go. He’s so angry. He’ll hurt me. He’ll kill me.”

“He’s allowed to.” The guard’s voice was flat, emotionless as he gripped her wrist a second time. Daine shook her head frantically, tears starting in her eyes. 

“But I’m scared.” Her whisper was hoarse, and she blinked back tears as she looked up at the guard. “Please, sir, he’s never been this angry with me before. I don’t want him to hurt my baby. I... I know it was my fault, and... and he’s fair right to be angry at me, but not... not my...” She sobbed and fell to her knees, the sudden fall surprising the guard enough to make him let go. She grabbed at him senselessly, grasping at his hands and his tunic and begging until finally the man shoved her backwards, and she fell against Numair. 

_Don’t defend me,_ she said quickly, feeling him tense as the guard stepped towards them. Numair’s arm tightened protectively around her for a moment, and she shook her head. There was a wry humour in her mind-voice which was completely at odds from the way she’d been speaking to the guard, and Numair’s eyes narrowed. 

_What’s going on?_ He asked, realising she was pretending. She didn’t answer, but he felt something cold and metallic being pressed into his hand. 

I never got you a midwinter present, She quipped, and then the guard dragged her away. Numair reached after her instinctively, but his fingers caught only the tattered edge of her dress before the other man shoved her through the door. Before it slammed shut and took the yellow light away, the mage looked down at the thing Daine had given him. 

It was the key. 

888

Daine called the birds to her the moment that she was free of the pit, barely feeling the tight grip of the guard’s hand on her arm as she concentrated. 

Ronan might have believed that she did nothing except sleep while she’d been locked in the tower, but in fact Daine had been so busy that there had hardly been enough hours in the day. Every morning, as soon as she woke up, she had called a new bird to her and greeted it when it slipped through the bars. The creatures would nestle on her shoulder as she spoke to them, patiently describing her plan to each one until she was sure that they understood. 

They carried messages, each bird remembering the few simple things he had been taught, until her mind buzzed with the voices of the People in the mountains. Foxes, badgers, birds and lizards, they all clamoured to ask questions and offer their ideas. And every morning the faithful birds took her quiet answers back. She even spoke to the disease-ridden mice that scurried around the tower, filling their ravenous scavenger minds with more than the desire to gnaw. She used as little magic as possible, just her words, and slowly every creature in the valley grew to know her voice. 

Being buried deep underground in the pit had been a kind of torture that even Orsille wouldn’t have thought of. Daine had to grit her teeth and wait, knowing that every day the birds might forget a detail, or the foxes might think of some grand plan of their own, or they might simply get bored and wander away. 

As soon as the door shut behind her, she sent her magic out in a flare so bright that every animal for miles stopped in their tracks to listen. And it was two simple words: _be ready._

The rush of escaping magic made her stagger as it left her body, leaving her legs feeling leaden and useless. The guard scowled at her and then yanked her forward, obviously thinking she was afraid. 

Well, she wasn’t. Daine found her feet and straightened her back, walking with her chin held high as Hazelle had taught her. If the guard looked confused she didn’t notice, because she was answering the rapid questions that the People were shouting at her, and reminding them of their jobs. A small flock of starlings sang out a shrill greeting as they streamed past a window, and then flitted away to another part of the castle. Daine smiled slightly, and didn’t bother hiding the expression. 

“I think it would be wise for me to wash my face and hands before I see Orsille.” She said, her voice refined and elegant. “Don’t you agree?” 

The guard blinked in confusion. “I was just told to bring you.” 

“Yes, and you know why he wants me.” She didn’t bother acknowledging the flush of colour that darkened his cheeks, but smiled serenely. “I’m filthy. He won’t like that.”

The man shrugged, but when they had passed a few more doors he abruptly opened one, and pushed her through into one of the guards’ mess rooms. It was just a table and some stools, but a large bucket of water sat in one corner. The guard pushed her forwards again, but since she had started speaking to him his manner had become more uncertain, and the push was almost gentle. 

“Be quick,” he said. 

She smiled and nodded, and knelt next to the bucket. Scum floated on the surface, but she dashed it away and quickly scrubbed dirt from her face. The cold of the water made her shiver as she plunged her arms into it up to the elbows. Numair had told her once, in an offhanded way, that cold water would help amplify the gift. As soon as she felt her magic dance into wakefulness her mind was already racing away. She sent herself flying outwards, latching onto the first bird mind that she met and soaring with it around the keep as, like all the other birds, the creature circled the castle. 

-The others will be so jealous that you picked me.- the bird said smugly. Daine smiled, but her eyes had already caught sight of the glint of metal. 

_There,_ she said, and the bird swooped down. This close to attacking, the armoury was almost overflowing with pristine metal, fletched arrows and strung bows. The birds skimmed through it quickly, and then away again. Daine kept the picture of the wooden building in her mind, and sent that same image to the animals who waited in the mountains outside, and in the keep itself. 

_Here._ She said, _This is the place. All of you. Be safe! Be quick!_

And then she was being pulled backwards, both in her mind and her body as the guard dragged her away from the bucket. 

“Stop fooling around, you daydreaming idiot.” he growled, all uncertainty gone. He wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her after him almost at a run. “Now we’re going to be late.” 

_Now we just have to kill time._ Daine thought in reply, and had to hide a smile. She could hear the calls of the animals as they crept into the armoury, and their laughter as they excitedly started fooling the humans who lived behind stone walls. She heard their delight at being allowed to chew through sacks of grain, stuffing themselves with food and hoarding as much of it away as they could before spoiling and spilling the rest. She heard their curses as they tried to chew through the thick tanned leather of saddles and quivers, and the waxed wood of spears and bows. 

Daine almost hated tearing her mind away, shutting out their voices so she could speak to the birds who wheeled around the windows, following her and singing in the evening light. The second part of her plan would use more magic than the first, and she hesitated before opening her mind to the People. Her gift flared and fought behind its cage, and she could almost hear the wolf waking up. 

Numair would be angry, but then it had been him who had given her the idea. Left in the tower, alone with nothing but her memories, she had remembered every word he’d said. 

_“You were that cat. I know it was you.”_

_She remembered the savoury smell of the soup, the dryness of the bread she was anxiously crumbling between her fingers, and the softness of the bed she was lying in. She remembered her headache, which made her reply sharp._

_“No, it was the cat. Just a cat. Nothing magical, nothing sinister. Just a grumpy, arrogant cat. He let me see through his eyes. I wanted to see if I could do it, so I tried.”_

_He hadn’t met her eyes. “I wouldn’t let Hazelle know that’s what you were doing. She would try to use it. I’m sure you could spy on anyone, if you found the right animal to help you, couldn’t you? You could hear anything.”_

_Anything.  
_  
Daine had repeated the word to herself over and over, and slowly the plan had formed itself. Now, the birds cheeped their understanding as she greeted them, and spun away from their flock to scatter around the grounds. Under them, in the walls and rafters of the kitchens and stables, every single mouse and rat who lurked in the keep passed on the message, and crept out of hiding. 

_One for every person in the castle,_ Daine thought, feeling hundreds of wild voices starting to whisper in her mind. _I can spy on anything. I can spy on all of them._

She raised her chin and walked forward strongly, gathering her dignity around her like the thin fabric of her cursed dress. Her gift writhed fretfully and she willed it into stillness, praying that it would hold out for long enough. 

Orsille was in one of the luxurious rooms at the top of the keep, one of the ones with wide windows to let in the light and walls which drank in the warm sun. The guard shoved her through the door and scowled at her vengefully when the official snapped at him for being slow. The door clicked shut, and Daine drew herself upright. She opened her eyes and focused on the man who sat calmly at a heavy oak desk, watching her. He was holding something which caught the evening sunlight: a knife. It was a jewelled dagger which he had been sharpening to an almost audible shine with a small whetstone, which he now fiddled with in his other hand. He looked at her in silence, wearing an odd half-smile and waiting for her to speak. 

Usually it was a trick which unnerved her, as she knew that he wouldn’t move until she broke the horrible, tense silence. 

Today, even looking at the knife he held, Daine raised her chin and felt no fear. She wanted to smile. She could hear the voices of the People in her mind as they ran through the walls of the keep, and she knew that she had outsmarted him. 

She smiled. Her voice was soft, challenging. “Let’s play this game. You begin.” 

He smiled back, a friendly, open expression which belied the way his fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger. His eyes were intrigued. “If that’s what the lady wishes, then I am happy to oblige. Tell me, Annette, how are you planning to leave this room alive? Did you really think I’d forgive you?” He dropped the whetstone onto the desk and tested the edge of the blade with his thumb. She ignored it. 

“That doesn’t matter.” She waved a hand, dismissing him, and to her surprise he fell silent. She wasn’t afraid any more, and she let him see it. There was no tremor in her voice, and nothing in her eyes when she looked at him except hatred. “I couldn’t count all the wrongs you’ve done me if you gave me an abacus. I’m not going to apologise for telling you the truth. I’d rather play dice with the Hag.” 

“So you won’t apologise.” He shrugged, hiding his surprise at the complete change in the way she spoke to him. 

“No. You will apologise to me, but not yet.” She grinned. “You’ll crawl forwards on bleeding knees and sob at my feet. You will beg for my forgiveness. But not yet. First, I have to give you a gift.”

He stepped around the desk, his head tilted to one side as he stared at her. Where before he had been watching her like a cat looking at its prey, now he was staring at her with almost incredulous curiosity. “My dear, pathetic little flower, I think you’ve actually gone mad.” 

She laughed, and the bright, cheerful sound made the man flinch. “Don’t you want this gift, my dear little petal? My _flower?_ You’ll find it very useful. It’s a list.” She listened to the voices in her mind, and her eyebrows rose, “It’s a very _long_ list.”

“List?” His brows drew together. He might be whimsical when he was trying to scare her, but he took the idea of information very seriously. “Of what?”

“Why, _of all the people who will betray you,_ my lord.”

She ignored his cursed retort and carried on speaking, tilting her head to one side instinctively as she filtered through the stream of messages from the birds and mice who peered through windows and cracks in doors. 

“The guard room is full, but they’re not guarding, they’re playing cards. They’re talking about what they would do with their winnings. Where they would go. None of them seem to want to stay here. Oh, their captain is coming! Surely he will restore order. But, no... they haven’t hidden the cards. He’s told them to be sure not to get caught by one of the... the 'brainwashed bastards'. That’s a good phrase, don’t you think? They’re dealing him in.” 

She tilted her head the other way and hid a laugh badly behind one hand. “Another guard is... oh _dear,_ and with one of the maids. I’m sure that’s a sentry tower. Your lookout isn’t looking out, my lord. And then... well, if you looked into the officials’ rooms, you might be surprised. There’s a bag hidden in the white-haired official’s water closet, filled with shiny things. Gold and silver. Perhaps he’s hoarding slave chains for the prisoners of war to wear – what do you think? He couldn’t possibly be planning to sell it all as soon as he can sneak it out of the valley, now, could he? 

"And... under the drawbridge, where the frogs are sheltering from the sun, there’s a trapdoor from the dungeon. Those aren’t prisoners escaping, my lord. Those are soldiers, disguised in rags, and their families are with them. Maids, servants, hostlers... quite a lot of them, and it’s only one night, my lord. It seems that fear isn’t enough to keep them here. The pass into Tortall is guarded by Alanna’s soldiers, but they let refugees past gladly, and it looks like there are a lot of refugees. They come from the forts and from the towns. Are you planning to attack soon, my lord, while you still have an army?” 

“That’s enough.” Orsille said, his voice dangerously soft. “They’re people. Human beings. I don’t expect them to be perfect.”

“Of course not, my flower! But don’t you expect them to be _loyal?_ They’re not slaves, after all!” She asked sweetly, looping her hands around her elbows like a child. “Don’t you want to hear what they say about you? I can’t think of a single one who wouldn’t turn and run away if you asked him to lay his life down for you. They talk about how you have their families, or how you have your mages. They want to be free almost as much as your slaves, my lord. You’re going to be king of an empty prison.” 

He stared at her, and she forced herself not to close her eyes in weariness. The stream of voices was starting to make her head spin. She carefully closed off her mind, feeling very alone when the mind voices of the People were gone. The next part of the plan was the most dangerous, and despite her iron control she couldn’t help herself resting her hand against her stomach protectively. 

“The sad thing is,” she said, “That you don’t trust your own soldiers. You talked to a slave about your plans more than to your generals, and you know I’m not lying to you now. Why would I? I know lying won’t protect me, and you know I can’t tell anyone your secrets. I've always been just a thing to you. A slave. A creature. But that changed, didn’t it?” 

She took a step forward, and started drawing on her magic with slow, deliberate purpose. Orsille’s face was flushed, and the line of his jaw was tense where he was gritting his teeth. Daine walked as close to him as she dared, ignoring the sharp blade he held between them, and looked him dead in the eye.

“You don’t want to kill me because you’re angry. You want to kill me because, for the first time, the guards have started listening to the things I said. I know too much, and it makes me dangerous.” 

“So that’s your plan?” Orsille demanded, his face white. “Reminding me why I should kill you is how you’re going to save yourself?” 

“No,” she murmured, and smiled. “Saving myself was never the plan.” 

He struck out at her, the blade flashing red in the light as he shouted furiously, but he was too slow. Daine released all the magic she’d summoned in one go. The walls seemed to tremble and shrink, and the blade stabbed through nothing but air as she fell to all fours and snarled. Orsille yelped and fell backwards, shouting out to the guards to protect him as she snapped at him with teeth which grew and shrank as she fought with her gift. There was a second when she stumbled, awkward in the new body with its grossly swollen stomach, and that was enough for the guard to grab her by the scruff of the neck and throw her against the wall. 

The wolf yelped and struggled to its feet, glaring with yellow-brown eyes at the official who cowered behind the guard. Perhaps they thought she would attack, but even though the wolf longed to tear his throat out, Daine had kept enough of her iron will to force it to stop. She could see the chain mail beneath the guard’s tunic, and the sharp blades both men carried. 

_We don’t want to fight._ She told the wolf, forcing her will onto it the same way she could control animals with her gift and reminding it of the way its belly was heavy with young. Even as a wild creature it must respect that, and she felt something in it's furious mind draw back at the maternal realisation. _That's right, my beauty. Don't fight. This is a diversion._

Something fought against her for a second, and she snarled and leapt forward. The guard kicked her viciously, and she spun away from the blow to latch her teeth around his exposed wrist. He yelped and slashed at her with his knife. The blade cut through mostly fur, but the pain of it cutting into her shoulder made her yelp. She let go, and ran under his legs to trip him up. He stopped her with another well-timed kick, sending her whimpering into the corner. Then the guard shouted something and she came back to herself, turning and running out of the open door. 

“Kill it!” Orsille screamed, his voice shrill. “Kill it! I order you to...!”

His voice faded into the distance as she ran, trusting her nose to lead her to the battlements. She smelled the sweetness of fresh air and crashed through that door. As soon as she was outside she shouted out to the People.   
_  
Now!_

Their voices rang in her mind as they answered, and she ran onwards, panting in the hot sunlight. The stones were cool under her paws, but she was already growing tired as she rounded the curtain wall and saw the soldiers gathering below. They opened the portcullis and darted outside the keep, raising bows to fire at her from both sides of the wall. Then they all turned, shouting in confusion as the doors of the stables crashed open, and every single horse who had been tied up burst out and galloped towards them. 

They streamed through the open gate, their hooves clattering like thunder on the drawbridge as they sped away down the mountain. Without men on their backs, with their halters chewed away, even the heaviest stallions were fast enough to escape. The soldiers shouted to each other and ran after them, waving their arms futilely. Daine stopped to catch her breath, panting and watching the other animals stream out of the stables through the now-empty courtyard, escaping into the woods. __

_Thank you,_ she called after them, and shuddered as even that use of magic made the wolf roar in her mind. _No..._ she thought, and lay down on the cold stone. _No, I won’t let you._

The cold brought her back to herself a little, and she shut her eyes in weariness. When she opened them again it was because she felt colder, and when she raised a paw in front of her face she saw that the fur was shrinking away. 

“No...” she whispered, and realised she was human enough to speak. “Not yet. I still have to...” 

Footsteps thundered along the wall behind her, and she raised herself on shaking arms to look around at the guards. They skidded to a halt, staring at her in bewilderment and looking past her. 

“Where’s the wolf?” One of them demanded. “Did it attack you?” 

“No,” she whispered, struggling to sit upright. “Not this time.” For some reason the thought made her giggle, and she hid her face in her hands. 

“You’re the girl that controls the hawk, aren’t you?” One of them asked, his voice young and curious. Daine nodded, and he tripped forward to help her stand up, his hands gentle and respectful. “Thank you, miss. That would have been much worse if you hadn’t done something. We can’t... we can’t believe that Sir Orsille would do something like that. But we’re fair grateful to you.” 

A few of the other men nodded, and one of them sheathed his drawn sword and asked, “What are you doing up here?”

Daine drew a deep breath. It was a risk, but then her legs shook under her, and she knew that she didn’t have much time. “I’m hiding. Orsille wants to kill me.” She whispered. “I’m one of his slaves. I ran up here to get away from him. He had a knife. He wants to kill me.” 

“But... he can’t!” The young man blurted out, and then flushed when one of the older soldiers hushed him. “No, sir, it’s not right. She was only trying to help people. And what if that Hawk creature comes back? You know he’s going to use the Hawk. He's going to use all the mages, they’re the best weapon we...” 

“You know what Orsille’s like with his slaves.” One of the men rumbled from the back of the group, and then his voice became defensive as someone glanced at him. “Oh, you’ve heard the same stories I have. Look at the girl. She can barely stand! _You_ tell me she’s been well treated. Looks half starved to me.”

“She is a slave,” another pointed out. “You lot are all new, but you must know that all the slaves are here because they deserve it. They’re murderers, all of them.” 

“The only person I’ve seen killing anyone recently is Orsille, and he’s eating three meals a day.” The man scowled, and took a step forward to grip Daine’s shoulder. “Look, girl, we’ll speak up for you. We’re attacking those Tortallan bastards tomorrow, so the last thing the officials want is us disputin’ something.” 

“The horses!” Someone yelled, and the guards looked down at the soldier who shouted up to Orsille’s window. After a few moments the official appeared, striding into the courtyard and looking around with wary eyes. The soldiers watched with interest, muttering to themselves about the leader never being quite the same since the hawk attack. 

“The horses have escaped!” The soldier was babbling loudly, wringing his hands and pointing through the wide-open portcullis. “Sir, what do we do? If we’re attacking tomorrow...” 

“What! Damn it to the dark realms.” Orsille spat bitterly on the floor, and then caught sight of the soldiers staring at him curiously from the battlements. “You! Men! Did you kill the wolf?”

“No sir, we think it escaped.” One of the men shouted back, “We didn’t see it, and this next door’s not been opened. Probably fell into the moat, or something. The others all went after the horses, so maybe they shot it?”

“And why aren’t you going after the horses?” The man shouted back poisonously. The soldier flushed and then caught Daine around the shoulders, moving her forward so the official could see her. He looked up with eyes filled with hatred and fear, and she smiled sweetly back at him. 

“We found this girl, sir.” The soldier said, his arm still protectively around her shoulders. “She says she ran away. Should we lock her up with that hawk mage, in case he goes mad again? All the soldiers are talking about it, you know. We’re fair happy you’ve got her to control that creature.” 

Orsille opened his mouth furiously, and then stopped and studied Daine for a moment. She swayed dizzily, even under the soldier’s arm, and a slight smiled spread over his face. Only Daine saw the slight movement of his fingers, the tiny glimmer of his gift, because she was expecting him to try something. 

“Yes, lock her back up in the pit, and then get after those horses.” He said nonchelantly, and turned away. 

The guards might have mistaken his wave for a sarcastic farewell, but as soon as his hand moved Daine felt ghostly hands closing on her arms, pulling her forward over the low surrounding wall. To the soldiers it might have looked like she’d fainted, or stumbled, but as she shrieked and held her arms out to stop herself from falling she knew it was useless. The magical hands yanked her violently over the edge, and after that she could only remember falling.


	55. Entombed 2

Time had no meaning in the pit, but Numair knew every second that passed as an agony of worry and desperate, useless plans. It was a long time before the door creaked open, and a man’s silhouette was framed in the yellow rushlight. The man was carrying something, and Numair felt his heart twist when he realised that the slight silhouette was Daine. The man walked into the pit and the light lit his face. Numair recognised the healer who had freed him from his chain the last time he was imprisoned. 

“Is she alright?” He demanded, his voice hoarse. Ronan knelt down next to the pillar and shook his head impatiently. 

“Here,” he said, “Take her. I’ll not put her down on that filthy floor.” 

Numair took her numbly, cradling her in his arms like a sleeping child. Her head lolled back unconsciously, and he shifted so that it was resting against his shoulder. Bruises darkened her skin, running under the edges of her dress which had been violently torn. Her skirt was stained with dark, fresh blood. 

“She fell off the curtain wall.” Ronan said tightly. “And why was she up there? We both know Orsille wasn't askin' her to enjoy the fresh air. I’m fair certain she was pushed.” 

“I swear,” Numair said, holding her tightly, “I swear by all the dark demons of chaos that I will kill that sadistic monster.”

“Not if I do it first,” the healer said grimly, not looking up as he pressed the flat of his hand to the girl’s stomach. His eyes shut and his mouth formed words in thought as he concentrated, and then the soft glow of his gift lit the room. After long minutes he sighed and sat back, looking dazed from using his magic. “There, Daine,” he said faintly, “You see? I kept my promise.” 

“Promise?” Numair echoed, and the softness faded from the healer’s face as he scowled. Not meeting Numair’s eyes, he leaned down and fastened the dangling manacle around Daine’s wrist. His words were curt.  
“Mind your own business, hawk.” 

“Well, it is my business.” Numair snapped back. “And I’m guessing you don’t have time to wait for Daine to wake up and tell me herself, so you might as well just... get over yourself, and tell me.” 

He half expected the guard to scowl and turn away at the angry words, but to his surprise being yelled at seemed to make Ronan view him with new respect. The other man smiled wanly and stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning against the column. 

“She knew you would come back.” He drawled, holding the other man’s eyes sardonically. “She’s been working on Orsille for weeks, but it was still a big risk, telling him what she did. You saw how he reacts whenever Karenna’s mentioned. She must have been fair desperate. Well, the trick worked, and the next day he sent me to heal her, and we spoke.” The healer shrugged one shoulder awkwardly at the memory, and for the first time he looked away. “She’s clever, isn’t she? I guess she’d had a lot of time to think – to plan. She told me her plans, and what she’d done for you. She said it was so they wouldn’t torture you. But then she told me she was frightened.”

“Frightened?” Numair looked down at the unconscious girl, and brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. It had been covering a swollen knot of bruise, and he flinched, letting the strand fall back over it. “But... what’s different? She’s always been frightened of Orsille.”

“Not the way you think.” Ronan muttered, saying the words unwillingly: “She told me the only reason Orsille was letting me heal the baby was because he wanted to own it. But once he had the famous Hawk Mage in chains, she was afraid that he would change his mind. So she made me promise to help her as much as I could... by healing the baby, I mean. I told Orsille that if she miscarried she would likely die, but I don’t think he believed me, even though it’s true. Today he told me I’m to keep her alive. That’s all. He’s too afraid of the hawk to lose her now, but...”

“But if he stops being afraid...” Numair had gone white. “Is she really... is it that likely that she might...”

“Well, she’s a strong, stubborn little thing.” Ronan’s voice was odd as he looked down at the girl. “But there’s only so much a body can take before something starts to give. She needs warmth, and good food, and more healing, and rest. But I can bet by Shakith that the first thing she does when she wakes up is think of another plan.” 

“I can make her sleep,” Numair whispered, looking down at her. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time, and suddenly she seemed smaller, more delicate and fragile than a Yamani doll. She was unbearably thin, and he drew the edge of his cloak over her pallid skin in a futile effort to warm her up. “I don’t have any food, though.”

“I might be able to bring...” Ronan started, and then flinched when the door rattled loudly. The guard who rushed in looked familiar, and he blurted out the words before he even stopped walking. 

“Have you seen my key, sir?” He cried, “I can’t find it! I think I might have dropped it...”

“No.” Ronan said flatly, folding his arms and turning away slightly so only Numair could see his slight smile. “You lost a key? Your captain will be furious.”

The man blanched, and then caught sight of the prisoners. “The girl!” He pointed at her, and his eyes narrowed. “I bet she stole it! Search her!”

“Search her?” Ronan repeated mockingly. “I’m not touching the filthy creature. Do you know where she’s been? Our noble Lord Orsille’s had her all afternoon. I’m fair sure he would have found a key, if she’d been hiding one. You know what he does to her.”

The guard sneered, taking out his stress on the prisoners. “She deserves it, the murderous bitch. You saw what happened in the courtyard. She could have stopped the Hawk any time she chose. There’s a lot more people wanting to beat her than just Orsille.” 

“Then they’ll have to wait.” Ronan’s voice was patiently barbed. “Orsille’s going to leave her rotting in the pit for a long time. He has other things on his mind, what with the first attack being tomorrow.” 

Numair looked up and then away quickly as the guard said, “Ssh!” The healer rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, who are they going to tell? The rats?” He stomped forward irritably and shoved the other man between the shoulder blades. “Come on, let’s tell your captain you’ve lost his key, shall we?”


	56. Entombed 3

After a long time Daine stirred, and Numair quickly relaxed his arms so she could move. Sure enough, she woke up by gasping in a deep breath and wrenched her eyes open, pushing him away with shaking hands.   
“It’s me, Daine,” Numair said, his voice quiet as he stroked her hair. “You’re safe. He’s gone. He’s not coming back.” 

“He..?” she croaked, and then winced and raised a hand to her head. She pulled a face and drew her hand away from the bruise ruefully. “He’s not?”

“They’re attacking Alanna tomorrow.” Numair felt her shudder, and nodded his understanding. “I know. But at least he won’t...”

“That’s not important.” She shook her head dismissively and tried to pull herself more upright, wincing. “We should warn her. We should have told Karenna, or...”

“Or Ronan?” He finished, and noticed the surprise in her smile of agreement. “He’s the one who told me, magelet.”

“But he won’t warn them. And he doesn’t know about Karenna.” Daine chewed her lip in thought for a moment, and then looked up at him with a questioning expression. “Wait, why are you still here? I gave you the key, you dolt!”

“Thank you, it was a very pretty present.” He said dryly, and tapped her nose. “I thought it might be best if I was here when they brought you back, otherwise it would be detrimentally obvious who stole it.”

“Detri-what?” She laughed and then shrugged. “I guess I agree. I agree with all the words I understood, anyway! Shall we go, then?” 

“You sound like we’re heading to Hazelle’s kitchens for breakfast.” Numair teased, and then his voice took on a serious tone. “We should wait. We don’t know if there’s a way out of here, anyway. I’m inclined to conclude that there isn’t, since our charming cell mates are still here. And you’re badly hurt, sweet.” 

“But you said the Tortallans are tunnelling.” She pointedly ignored the last part of his sentence. “You said. And they’re being sneaky, so the prisoners might not have noticed if there is a way out. They can’t even think, half of them. And the other half are too scared to even try to escape. If there’s a way out then we can warn Alanna, and...” 

“Can you even walk?” He interrupted her, his voice barbed. Daine coloured and didn’t meet his eyes, but nodded. She pushed herself out of his lap, obviously making a great effort not to let any pain show on her face as she moved around and rested her back against the pillar, her breaths hitching in her chest as she looked at Numair defiantly. He shrugged and fished the key out of his sleeve where he’d hidden it, just in case he was searched. 

When he slipped it into his manacle and turned it he felt the odd shiver of the gift, as the magic in the locks was dispelled. And then he unclasped the link, standing up carefully. Then he met her eyes, and said, very carefully, “I’m sorry.” 

Daine’s defiant expression wavered when she realised that he was being completely serious. “No,” She said, her voice completely flat. “Don’t you dare.”

He pocketed the key and forced himself to meet her eyes, seeing the fury kindling in them. “I’m sorry, but you have to stay here.”

“What?!” It was less a word than a shriek. It echoed shrilly off the cave walls. Daine yanked at her chain so violently the metal crashed against the pillar. She struggled painfully to her feet and threw herself forward, the chain stopping her from reaching the mage. “Gods damn it, Numair, let me go!”

Numair took a step backwards, feeling his heart twist. “I can’t, sweetheart.” His voice was too soft to break through her fury, but the grim note of determination in it made Daine stare up at him in stunned betrayal. 

“I can’t believe you,” She cried, and laughed hysterically as she wrapped a bruised hand around her manacle and dragged at it. “I...can’t...”

“You need to rest, Daine.” He watched her fight, seeing the way she flinched away from her own body whenever it hurt. When she kicked ineffectually at the pillar he had to say something else, just to stop her frantic movements. “You’re hurt, sweetheart. Badly. You can’t pretend you’re not. That healer said you need to sleep.” 

“What does he know?” She demanded, panting. “I’m fine. Just give me the key, Numair. I’m the one who stole it, for the hag’s sake! And I’ve been here before. You need me. You let me go right now, or I swear I’ll... I’ll...” 

“You’ll what? Yell at me?” He demanded. “All I’m doing is exploring, Daine. I’ll be back soon. I have to find out if this is the same cave I found with Rain. You wouldn’t even know what to look for! So... so just stop it. You’re making it _worse,_ Daine. Stop it!”

“No.” She scowled stubbornly at him. “It’s not fair. I just want to feel like I’m free for a few lousy hours, that’s all.”

He stared at her, and then seemed to relent. He sighed and held out a hand. “I don’t want to do this.” He told her quietly, “Give me your hand.”

She held out her manacled wrist defiantly, and he took the key out of his pocket with an oddly hesitant look. Because of the way the dim light glinted off the metal, Daine didn’t see the soft glow of his gift until he had touched her wrist, and by then it was too late. She cursed as she felt the dull leeching magic seeping through her veins and dragged her hand away, staring at him in disbelief as she reeled back against the pillar. 

“I hate you.” She whispered, the words slurred as she fought off the sleeping spell. He caught her as she collapsed, and planted an apologetic kiss on her forehead as her eyes fluttered shut. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I’m so sorry, sweetling.”

He took off his cloak and folded it around her carefully, knowing that lying alone on the cold damp stone would be freezing, and headed away towards the distant honeycomb of tunnels without looking back. He refused to feel guilty, even if his stomach felt like he’d just drunk sour wine. 

He’d noticed that the other prisoners seemed to gravitate towards the leftwards tunnel. It could be because it was further away from the door, but he didn’t think so. Their voices didn’t echo back from that tunnel the same way they did when they were in the others. He reasoned, logically, that the tunnel must therefore go further back. He walked over to it cautiously, slipping in the shallow puddles on the floor until his hand caught the edge of the wall, and he could steady himself. 

The tunnel met a fork, and he took the left turn, carefully counting his steps to try to work out how far he’d gone. Then there was another fork, and again he went left. He had to step carefully on the damp floor, especially when the path started sloping downwards, deeper underground. 

_I wish I had some string,_ He thought when he came across a third fork in the path. _This is like a labyrinth, not a cave!_

Still, he’d only tripped a few more hundred meters in the darkness before he stepped on a stone that was as smooth as ice, and his feet shot from under him. He crashed to the ground painfully, swearing under his breath as he reclaimed his feet and tried to work out which way he’d been walking. A low chuckle made him freeze, and he looked up into eyes that gleamed white in the darkness. 

“Good evening,” he said cautiously, finding the stone wall again with his left hand. The chuckling stopped, and the eyes vanished as the dark figure bowed mockingly. 

“Are you lost?” The ‘s’ seemed to hiss forever, but Numair realised the eerie voice was made by the shining walls, and not by the man in front of him. He swallowed, willing himself to stop being afraid.   
I probably look just as monstrous, he thought, and stood up straighter. 

“There’s a cave that looks like... like diamonds. Like jewels.” He said. “A cave you can see but not get to.”

“Yesssss.” The man hissed another laugh. “You were there before. You ran. You were scared.” 

Numair gulped and gripped the wall with his nails, trying to stop his voice from trembling. The eyes... he thought, but his voice was steady when he said, “That was you?”

“I wanted to see you again. I waited. You didn’t come back. And then you did. For me. To see me. Does that mean you’re not scared anymore?” The voice took on a happy note, and a grin of yellowed teeth appeared in the gloom.

“I didn’t come to see you. I was locked here.”

“I wanted to speak when you were at the pillar.” The voice ignored him. “But you were with a... a...” it made a sound more like a retch than anything else, and spat on the ground. “Horrible things. They smell of death. Disgusting creatures.” 

“Women?” The mage backed away slowly, trying to put as much distance between himself and the madman as he could without making it look like he was running away. “Women smell like death?”  
“Eventually,” the man said, and laughed shrilly. It echoed in the icy corridor, and Numair shuddered. 

“Do you know where the cave is?” He asked, pressing his hands over his ears as he backed away. The man gurgled and danced around him, ridiculously sure-footed on the slippery floor. 

“Find it, little frightened mouse, and you shall have cakes for tea.” He sang, splashing through a deeper puddle and giggling at the shower of frozen droplets which covered them both. 

“Mabuz!” The voice was stern, and the yellow-eyed man cringed back from it like a scolded child. “You’ve been warned!” 

Mabuz flicked his eyes up towards Numair for a moment, and then grinned and darted away deeper into the darkness. His eerie laughter echoed after him. Numair breathed out raggedly and leaned against the wall, looking up to see the man who had ordered Mabuz away. 

“Thank you,” he said. The man smiled. Unlike Mabuz, he didn’t keep to the pools of darkness, and in the dim light Numair could just make out a crinkled smile, and a strangely well-groomed bearded face. The old man held out a hand and the mage shook it. 

“Greetings.” The bearded man said in a strong voice. “I see you’ve been acquainting yourself with the cave people.”

“Cave people.” Numair echoed weakly, and smiled. “Yes, I suppose they are. I’m looking for a certain cave, though, sir. Perhaps you might know where it is?” 

The man’s eyes narrowed, and he shrugged with an odd showman’s grace. His voice, Numair realised, was refined and articulate. “I do apologise, but I don’t think I can recall the specific geography of this area. I merely followed you to bring you a message. I tend not to venture into the domain of our subterranean friends, you see. It doesn’t help ones’ sanity.” 

“Great.” Numair smiled wanly and stuck his hands in his pockets, his voice wry as he looked after Mabuz. “So I have to choose between groping around in the dark, or speaking to a madman?”

“It’s an and, not an or.” The cultured man corrected him, and smiled gently at Numair’s expression. “You see? It used to work so well on the surface, before they caught me. The guards are similarly deceived. One simply cannot comprehend the notion of a well spoken gentleman being somewhat deficient in scruples to a murderous extent.” 

“What?” Numair was starting to wonder if this was how Daine felt whenever he used big words. He made a mental note to apologise to her for being this confusing, and then he worked it out. “You’re saying you’re mad?” 

“So are you, my dear.” The man smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Or you would not be here, would you? We take some pride in our mental incapacities here, as you shall find out. But at present, you should be made aware of a few flaws in your exploring methodology.”

Numair folded his arms and looked the man straight in the eye. “Really? Enlighten me.” 

The cultured man inspected a nail and sighed when he detected a chip in it. “Fundamentally it is a sound plan, but you failed to consider the unpredictable factors in your approach. Perhaps this was understandable, since I understand that your decision to render the young lady unconscious was made in some haste, and rather upsetting for all parties involved.”

“Daine?” He asked, and the man shrugged at the unfamiliar name. Numair looked back down the tunnel, his heart skipping a beat. “Why, what...?”

“Must I really clarify? How disappointing. Well then, let us review your idiocy.” He paused, looking up with an eyebrow raised, and then sighed and said, very slowly and deliberately: “You left the wolf cub... alone and unconscious ... in the middle of a cave... full of madmen.” 

Numair opened his mouth to reply, and then darted off back down the tunnel without another word. 

“Your gratitude is noted!” The man shouted after him, and then sighed and rubbed at the nail fretfully. His steps were ponderous as he trailed after the mage. 

Numair’s breath rasped in his throat as he ran, but he barely noticed the icy air tearing into his lungs. He slipped on the floor more times than he could count, and each time he came across a turning he crashed into the far wall before turning right. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ He cursed himself, over and over, with every footstep. The cave was too dark for him to see the larger cell at its opening, but he saw the strange lines of yellow light that outlined the barred door, and then he could make out the iron pillar. Around its base, seething and writing in the darkness, he could make out the moving silhouettes of people. 

“Stop it!” He cried out, skidding closer on aching feet. “Leave her alone!” 

“Help us!” Another voice screamed back, and he crashed into the crowd just as he realised they were fighting each other. They had no weapons, but the group of men and women were clawing at each other with ragged nails, biting and ripping at each others’ hair and clothes and screaming in gibbering nonsense words. Numair tried to catch his breath, and then he saw one of the shadows leaning over Daine. 

Without stopping to think he threw himself forward and ripped the man backwards. The man fell heavily against the stone and darker shadows pooled out around his head as he twitched. Then another pair of hands gripped Numair’s shoulders, and the mage found himself in the middle of the scrum, fighting for his life. 

For a thousand heartbeats there was nothing except the writhing mass of bodies, the kick of bare, frozen feet and the sharp lacerating pain of nails on flesh. Then there was a high, ululating sound, and half the fighters seemed to melt away into the darkness. Their laughter, wild and shrill, echoed back as they vanished. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” A hand crashed into the side of Numair’s head, and because he hadn’t been expecting it he reeled sideways. The woman who had struck him stared at him, her eyes furious as she raised her hand, and he shook his head mutely. 

“Now, Pebbles.” Another woman’s voice said reprovingly. “He came back, di’nt he?” 

“I told you we should have spoken to them.” Pebbles muttered, scratching her head irritably. “But no, you said they’d be taken away soon, and then this happens...”

“My wolf baby’s hurt.” Another voice said, low and cracked with age. The younger women stopped arguing to look respectfully down, and the woman who had spoken looked up from Daine to glare accusingly at Numair. “Did you do this, idiot man?”

“Of course I didn’t!” Numair caught his breath and looked back at her levelly, seeing the iron in her blue eyes. “It was Orsille.”

A few people in the crowd hissed loudly, and made signs against evil with their hands. The old woman sniffed and looked back, pressing a gnarled hand to the girl’s head. “But you put her to sleep, eh?”

“She’s sick.” He tried not to make his voice sound defensive, but he heard the mocking sounds the people around him made and looked around at the crowd. “No, really. She’s pregnant. The healer said she’d lose the baby if she didn’t rest.”

“She’d’ve lost it if the cave folk had dragged her away with them.” Pebbles’ voice was scathing.

“She’s chained to the pillar,” the calming woman pointed out. Pebbles folded her arms and cocked her head to one side, her voice incredulous. 

“Did I say they’d want all of her? They wouldn’t care if they left a hand behind, is all I’m sayin’.” 

“Snack for the journey.” Someone else muttered, and there were a few dark sniggers in the crowd. The old woman glared around at no-one and everyone, and the sniggering subsided. 

“What do we think, children?” She asked, her ancient voice holding authority. “What’s the story here?”

“I say he’s an idiot.” Pebbles declared, and unfolded her arms. “But he came back, and he fought, which is fair impressive, I suppose.” 

“He encountered our friend Mabuz in the caves.” The voice was familiar, and Numair turned to see the old man from the tunnels trudging up to the group. “He was somewhat delayed before I could communicate your message.” 

“Mabuz?” The old woman tilted her head to one side. “When did he come out of hiding?”

Numair listened to their conversation in fascination, slowly realising that these people had made their own community here in the damp and the darkness. Some of them must have been here for years, like the old man and woman, both of whom seemed to be respected by the younger people. They waited in respectful silence and spoke more carefully when they knew the elders were listening. 

The cave people, from the way the prisoners spoke about them, seemed to be another species. They were the ones who had gone mad in the darkness, and who hid away in the caves like animals. These prisoners – ten or twenty adults, ranging from youths to the old woman - had fought them away without a thought for their own safety. Numair felt so grateful that he barely cared that they all thought he was an idiot. After all, he reasoned, they were right. He had been stupid. 

“Huh?” He asked, realising he’d been asked a question. Pebbles rolled her eyes, and pointed at Daine. 

“I said, idiot man: how do you know our wolf cub?”

“They... I was sick when they captured me, and they made her nurse me.” He babbled, and then started to tell the whole story when they stared at him incredulously. They soon started asking questions, and the tale took a lot longer to tell than it really needed, but when Numair reluctantly recounted how she’d been treated by Orsille they hissed between their teeth and gathered around the sleeping girl, cuddling up to her sympathetically. 

“Poor little wolfling.” The calming woman said, patting Daine’s bare foot. Numair crouched down next to them, choosing his words carefully. 

“How do you know her? Is it from when she was locked up here before?”

“She couldn’t speak, then.” The old woman said briskly. “But we heard what she’d done to earn her chains.”

“The guards were quite outspoken.” The old man nodded. “They had much to recount, and wanted us to quail in terror from the woeful fate that she surely would bring to us.”

“Yeah, and they wanted us to be scared.” Pebbles grinned at the old man’s expression. She was a handsome middle-aged woman, not pretty, but with well defined cheekbones and bright, charismatic eyes. “Doesn’t really work on us, does it?” there was a clamour of answering jeers as the other prisoners answered her, and she looked up at Numair with a challenge in her eyes. “They lock us up with the cave people and expect us to be scared of a little girl? What idiots.”

“They don’t know what it’s like down here.” The old woman’s voice was reproving. “They think it’s just a prison cell. They don’t know how far back the tunnels go, nor what lurks within.”

“They just know it’s full of crazy people!” Pebbles crowed a laugh, which was echoed by the other prisoners. The old woman hid a smile and looked around. 

“Well then, did we make a decision?”

“I say we help them.” Pebbles waited for the others to nod before she continued, “We all know the wolf cub, after all, and if she’s keeping company with that moron then she’ll need all the help we can give her.”

“I concur.” The old man ran his fingers through his beard, eyes thoughtful. “We must ascertain whether this man’s story is true, of course, but I am inclined to believe him.”

“Nah, it’s pure horseshit.” Pebbles waved a hand dismissively. “There’s no way anyone would attack the keep. And if there were really high and mighty nobles and knights running around with bird-brain, do you really think the officials would lock him up here? They’re not that dumb!” 

“I’ve never heard you say anything good about the officials before.” The calming woman’s voice was barbed, and Pebbles glared at her before spitting on the floor. “Well, I believe him. I wasn’t here when yon wolf cub was last here, but I believe his story. Let’s help them. I say yes.”

“I think it’s decided,” The old woman smiled peacefully and held out her hand to Numair. When he stared at her blankly she sighed, and the assembled prisoners giggled mockingly. “The key, if you please!” She said deliberately. He flushed and handed it over. 

“Why is your only insult for anyone that they’re stupid?” He asked Pebbles. The woman smiled thinly. 

“What else do we have to do down here, but talk and think and tell stories? We can’t see, there’s nothing to grow or carve or sew or craft. If you do nothing you go mad, like the cave people. So we craft our minds, instead. To be stupid is to be insane.”

A couple of people leaned down and picked up Daine as soon as the old woman had unchained the manacle. Her arm swung limply at her side as they turned and started walking without another word to Numair. He blinked after them, confused beyond words at the easy way they had decided to help. There was something strange about them, in their dark laughter and mocking eyes, but compared to the cave people they seemed almost friendly. 

Still, he thought, They’re all locked up here for murder.   
_  
Like us, then._ Another voice in his mind retorted, and he realised that even when Daine was asleep he could tell what she would say. He grinned suddenly, wry humour eclipsing his seething thoughts, and followed the prisoners into the depths of the labyrinth.


	57. Entombed 4

Daine realised where she was before she even opened her eyes. The people in the caves slept like cats, curled around each other for warmth and comfort in a protective huddle. She could feel their bodies pressed against hers, swaying softly as they breathed in and out. It was an odd, comfortably reassuring feeling, and she tried to drift back to sleep again. Then she remembered what had woken her. The sleeping spell made her head pound horribly, and as if to answer it, her morning sickness had returned. She pulled herself away from the tangle of warm bodies and shivered her way across the dark cave, groping blindly in front of her until her fingers met wall and she could throw up quietly in the corner. 

Returning to the huddle, she crawled back into her space and tried to drift back to sleep, but now she was awake her mind was reeling. She wasn’t sick, she knew that bitter fact keenly. She was just furious. 

_How dare he?_ She thought, remembering the feeling of the spell seeping into her veins and scowling into the darkness. She recalled the glint of the key as he refused to unlock her chain, and her hand fisted around her naked wrist defensively. _Stupid, horrible, idiotic, nasty man. He had no right… no right… to do that!_

Her mind was still seething hours later when the others began to stir. I don’t want to talk to them. She realised, her anger flaring out at the slightest thought. _Why did they take so long to come and find us? I know they were watching. They’re always watching._ And so she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and stayed still, curling up on the dirt floor as the others stood up and wandered away. 

“Daine?” a hesitant voice asked, and a familiar hand rested on her shoulder for a moment. “Sweet, I know you’re awake. Are you alright?” 

She curled up tighter for a moment, refusing to open her eyes, and when he didn’t move his hands she spat out: “Leave me alone.” 

Numair was silent for a long moment, but he still didn’t move his hand, and in a fit of petulant fury she shoved it away. She knew he was still there, even though he didn’t say anything: she could feel his eyes as he looked at her. She could almost hear him thinking. 

“Daine, I’m sorry.” He said, his voice raw. “I was wrong. Very wrong. I’m so sorry.”

She covered her ears with her hands and didn’t answer, but even with her ears covered she could hear a cackling laugh. She recognised it as the old woman who had led the cave people when Anja had lived here, but she couldn’t remember the lady’s name. She cackled with genuine amusement, though her voice was stern. 

“Can’t you see she doesn’t want to talk to you?” The old woman said. Numair drew a breath to answer, and she cut him off. “The others have agreed to your search, bird boy. I’d get going, if I were you. It’d be rude to keep them waiting.” There was another pause, and her voice took on a forceful note. “Leave. Now. Don’t make an old lady hex you, there’s a dear.”

Daine didn’t move for a long time after she heard Numair’s footsteps die away. There was a comfortable sigh as the old woman sat down beside her, resting her back against the girl’s folded legs contentedly. It was impossible to stay angry when there was no-one to be angry at. The old woman hummed to herself as she relaxed. They were old folk songs, the kind Daine recognised from her childhood. She opened her eyes slowly, letting her sight adjust to the semi-darkness. 

“Are they looking for the exit?” She asked quietly. The old woman looked around, smiled, and nodded. “How long have I been asleep?”

“This is the second morning, wolfling.” The woman laughed. “Not that you can tell down here! But we have had two sleeps. Yesterday was talking. All talking! Lots of talking. We agreed to help search. Help fight. Maybe help win. Whatever happens, it’ll be more interesting than the darkness.” 

Daine smiled broadly. “Thank you so much!” 

“Eh, it helps us too.” The woman shrugged. “I’d like to see the moon again before I die.”

The girl struggled upright, trying not to jostle the old woman too much as she sat up. “So the soldiers attacked? Yesterday? How did it go?”

“Who can tell?” The woman cackled peaceably, folding her arms across her stomach. “You have a nice voice, little wolf. Soft. I thought you might bark, but maybe you’re not such a wolfling any more, after all.” 

Daine didn’t answer for a long moment, but the woman’s words made her worry at her gift like a sore tooth. The shield was gone now, and she knew that if Numair hadn’t been so worried about her being hurt he would have seen it for himself. She could almost hear the wolf snapping in her mind, fighting to free itself from the cobweb-thin control that she held it with. 

_It was worth it, though. He must be furious that I’m still alive,_ she thought, looking around at the dark walls of the cave. _That fall was supposed to kill me._

Still, she wondered how well their attack had gone. She wondered how soon they had realised that their weapons and armour were broken, and their supplies were spoiled. She wondered how many of the horses they’d found, since she’d told the creatures how to hide their tracks and stay silent in the mountains. 

She wondered what Orsille’s revenge would be.


	58. Uprising 1

"Alanna, come quickly! Alanna!" The sentry skidded to a halt outside the knight's tent and gasped for breath. His voice held a thick Gallan lilt, but like many of the refugees he'd taken to wearing the Tortallan colours. They clashed terribly with his flushed skin. "Alanna! I mean, uh, Mistress Sir Lady Knight Lioness Ma'am! You want to see this!"

"I'd settle for 'your imperial majesty'." The sharp retort made the man flush, and when Alanna stormed out of her tent, rubbing sleep from her eyes, he was tongue-tied with embarrassment. "Well? What is it?" Alanna demanded.

"It's the squirrels, ma'am!" He blurted out, and then returned to his staring contest with the ground. The knight was genuinely nonplussed for a moment, but the rest of the camp seemed to be waking up as well, so there must be something behind the man's insanity.

"Squirrels." She repeated, not quite deigning to ask it as a question. He gulped and nodded.

"Well, first it was the squirrels, sir, and then there was the… hm, was it the badgers that came next, or the… the birds? No, it must have been the birds, because Jim said, he said…"

"What. Did. The. Squirrels. Do?" Alanna enunciated every word carefully and made a mental note to yell at whoever sent this green recruit to deliver this apocalyptic message. He fluttered his hands in the air vaguely.

"They were running into the camp, see, and we thought they were rabid, and then they all just climbed onto the tents and just… just sat there."

"So you woke me up to tell me that squirrels are sitting on the tents." The woman folded her arms.

"And the birds, miss."

"Right. And the birds. And the badgers too, I bet."

"No!" The man's voice was scornful. "How would they get up there? They're in the pass. Cap'n shooed them out of camp because we could hardly move, so now…"

"Wait, you couldn't _move?"_ Despite herself, Alanna stepped forward. "Just how many badgers _were_ there?"

The soldier made a massive gesture with his arms, and then pointed dramatically to the main camp, his finger shaking ominously as he proclaimed. _"All of them!"_

You could smell the animals long before you saw them. The soldiers, many of whom were competent trackers, were used to picking up the scent of a single badger sett from a fair distance. Collectively, the mass of striped animals milling uneasily in the pass emitted an odour that would scare away even the most determined trespasser.

And it wasn't just the badgers. The animals sat quietly, but their truce was uneasy, and many nervous stomachs had been upset by being so close to their natural predators. The rabbits huddled together in a knot as far away from the foxes as it was possible to get, eyes huge as their ears twitched back and forth. The squirrels, on the other hand, seemed to be fearlessly mocking the small group of kestrels who perched regally on the next tent.

"Daine," Alanna breathed, and rested her hands on her hips. She was halfway between annoyed and, frankly, awed. She never would have thought the girl would be able to command such a crowd of animals, let alone from… well, wherever she was. The knight had scanned the crowd and quickly realised that the hundreds of animals had no humans among them. Instead, every time a new human appeared, all the animals' heads would snap around and study the newcomer, dismissing them in a chorus of impatient hoots, yips, snorts and squeaks.

"What's going on here?" Alanna demanded, raising her voice to yell over the rustling feathers and chattering of the squirrels. The heads snapped around to peer at her her, and instead of dismissing her like they had the others, there was a chorus of triumphant sounds of recognition.

"Oh…." The woman managed before a delighted rush of animals charged at her, knocking her to the ground. They pawed her ecstatically, and she spat and cursed and shoved away scores of affectionate tongues and nuzzling heads. "Get off, or I'll turn you all into jerky!" She roared, and they scattered.

Ignoring the laughter of the other knights, who were watching from a safe distance, Alanna climbed to her feet and spat on the ground.

"One of you," she started, staring around balefully at the creatures, "Explain what is going on here."

"How will they talk, Lioness?" One of the captains yelled out mockingly, and then gasped as bright purple magic smeared itself over his mouth, sticking his lips together like glue. Alanna didn't even bother looking around to see if her spell had taken.

"It's obvious that Daine sent them. So she has a plan. She must have… oh, what now?" She peered into the darkness, hearing a rushing sound like growing thunder, and then twisted her hands together and threw a bolt of pure light down the trail. What she saw, illuminated in the purple light, made her gasp and shout for everyone to move out of the way. Humans and animals all dove for the verges as scores of horses thundered into the camp, their hooves shod in strong steel, the tattered remains of well-made bridles fixed to their faces.

"Those are war horses!" Someone shouted, pointing at a larger group milling towards the back. "Look, they're…"

"This is Gallan livery." The speaker had a strong lilt to his voice, and he studied a mare's bridle with an expert eye. "Nicely made stuff, too. We… they… use the curved stirrups, you see?"

"Gallan warhorses. She's sent us their horses." Alanna started laughing helplessly. She was half expecting the next thing to come over the pass to be a herd of sheep, each with a stolen weapon hidden in their fleece. She sobered quickly, realising that she already knew what the next thing would be.

"We've got their horses." She yelled, "They'll be coming to get them back! Wake everyone! Get ready!"

"But if they've got no horses…" one of the men started, and she grabbed him by the shoulder.

"They have other troops, you idiot! She's taken out their cavalry, but they still have their infantry and their mages! Or have you forgotten that? They're the dangerous ones. We don't know how many mages they spent years training in those insane prisons of theirs." She realised the soldiers had fallen quiet, and turned to them with command in her voice. "It won't be easy, so prepare yourselves! Wake up the men, and find a paddock for these horses! And someone, _anyone_ , get those damned beavers out of the water trough!"

The men scattered.

If they hadn't been alerted by the animals then they might not have seen the soft light glinting dimly off the armour of the men who were trickling into the hills around them. As it was, the sentries were on tenterhooks, and even the slowest ones could hardly miss seeing the soldiers when one of the many demonically excited squirrels was leaping onto their helmets and screeching wildly at the intruders.

"They're too far away for us to attack," Alanna responded, "But we know they're trying to surround us. We can work with that. Do they know about the caves?"

The men glanced at each other, not sure, and a hand was raised towards the back of the group. Rain stepped forward, his other hand nonchalantly in his pocket, seemingly oblivious of the tiny field mouse that was dozing on top of his head. "I'd say not, Lioness. The digging's been quieter these last few days, what with being deeper in the mountain, and we took some care disguisin' the entrance, you see? Speakin' spell's not gone off, at any road." He shrugged and pulled a tiny orb from his pocket, showing her that it was dark.

"Then we can counter with a pincer attack." Alanna drew a few quick lines in the dust, and a few knights nodded knowingly. "Captain Obrams, take your best men- not many, fifty or so at the most, but ones you know won't keel over at the first blow- and set up in the caves. Take some mages, too. Make them as confused as possible."

"Stay low, dart out, attack, and take cover in the hidden caves." The captain grinned and saluted cheerfully. "Got it, sir."

"We need another small group here, in the pass." Alanna gestured to her diagram. "Again, strong fighters would be better, but I'm going to ask for volunteers on this one."

"A decoy?" One of the knights asked, and nodded when she agreed. "I can do that. My men may not be the best of the best, but by the gods I don't think they know what fear is. They'll thank you for it."

"If you say so, I trust your judgement, and thank you." The knight scuffed out the diagram with her boot, standing up briskly. "Everyone else, try to look stupid and get ready to be caught in their trap. Until the pincer breaks through it, it will be vicious work."

"It won't be long," Obrams promised grimly, already pulling on his gloves. Alanna smiled, showing teeth.

"Don't hog all the fun, Captain."

The summer air was already warm, the dew rising in a shimmering haze, when they left the tent. Alanna strode through the camp, awkward raising morale but knowing that it was important that she be seen by the soldiers as confident and commanding. She nodded at more men than she could count, snidely joined in the jibes of men teasing each other for their ill-fitting armour, and kept one eye firmly on the distant mountainside. The enemy was there, distant specks of glinting weapons and bad disguise, and every time she looked she spotted more of them.

She paused in the muddy encampment of refugees, smiling reassuringly at the jumpy new recruits, and leaned against a tent pole. The ground seemed denser here, sucking at her boots as she kicked fitfully at the soil. She hated the wait before a battle, but until the speaking spell she held flared into life telling her the pincer soldiers were in position there was nothing she could do but stand around. She bit at her nail absently and wondered if there was anything she missed, watching one of the refugee women cheerfully trying to hang up some laundry.

"I wouldn't bother, ma'am. There might be blood everywhere soon." Alanna said absently, not seeing the woman's flinch as she inspected her calloused hand. When she looked up again, the laundry had vanished and the woman was giving her a filthy look from inside her makeshift shelter. The knight shrugged and turned away. Or, at least, she tried to. The mud sucked at her boots, and she stumbled slightly before regaining her balance.

"What…?" She started, and stumbled again to the ground. When she threw out her hands the mud felt oddly warm to the touch, and she drew back quickly. Muttering a short incantation she squeezed her eyes shut and then reopened them, seeing the blaze of olive-green magic swimming through the ground as far as she could see.

"Dear Mithros…" she breathed, and struggled to her feet. The mire sucked at her feet, and she nearly dislocated her ankle dragging it free. "Everyone!" She yelled, "Get to high ground! Rocks, trees… climb! The ground is… is…"

 _Quicksand,_ she thought incredulously, struggling through the mud. _It's quicksand. How are they…?_

 _No._ The second voice in her head was angry. _Not how, who is doing it? _

She looked around, scanning the green magic for a brighter area, or a patch where the ground was safe, or… there! A dark patch, as if the caster wasn't using magic there. But it was far away, and the soldiers nearby were struggling themselves to climb a nearby outcrop of rocks. No-one was paying attention to the refugee, a woman who looked as innocent and plain as any other Gallan citizen, who was crouching down with her hands flat against the ground. Alanna growled under her breath and struggled towards the mage as fast as she could manage.

"This is stupid," she snarled, and hurled a fireball in the woman's direction. It missed, but the screaming explosion sent the mage sprawling away. As she fell, the mud dried and cracked, and the woman landed in a hard cloud of dust and grit. There were cries as people across the camp found their feet entombed in suddenly-hard clay, but Alanna barely heard them as she threw herself forwards, sprinting towards the woman who writhed around in the dirt. She pressed one hand to the ground, and was about to flatten the other palm to the soil when the furious redhead barrelled into her.

Alanna didn't have a plan, she simply wanted the woman to stop, and so she didn't bother to ask any questions or try any tricks. She simply slammed into the woman and knocked her head against the dirt until she passed out, headdress coming uncoiled around the knot of bruise. The knight caught her breath, rolling off the unconscious mage and dragging at the ragged fabric around the woman's arm. She knew what she'd find, but she had to be sure, and when she caught sight of the glint of a bronze chain she cursed bitterly.

Daine had explained in some detail how the prisons worked, and so the knight knew that this bronze chain meant that the woman was considered to be a weaker, expendable mage. But that wasn't the point. The woman had walked… walked!... into the camp and been welcomed, casting her damned magic on the soldiers without anyone giving her a second glance. A spy. A traitor. Alanna thought of all the words for it and spat bitterly at the unconscious woman.

F _ool, fool!_ She told herself. _Of course they're not all refugees. I've been such an idiot! We should have been screening them from the start, forcing them to show us their wrists… but there were so many, so many, and we trusted them… How many more are there?_

She swore again and stood up, starting to hear the cries of the trapped soldiers now her rage had faded into a bitter diatribe. Pressing her own hand to the ground, she concentrated and called on her magic. She didn't know how to do the spell the woman had been casting, but she could summon enough water from the mountain streams to soften the mud, at least. There were cries of relief as the soldiers pulled themselves free, and she removed her hand with a sigh. The spell had made her tired, but it couldn't be helped.

 _Perhaps that was what they intended,_ she thought, _Weaken our mages with a few annoying tricks, and then…_

A warning horn sounded, nasal and harsh in the summer birdsong. She looked up, and saw the distant Gallan soldiers speeding down the mountain walls at a fast march. There was a shrill, shrieking sound of hundreds of straining bow strings, and the first rain of arrows thudded into the camp in a wail of tearing canvas, punctured flesh and screaming men.

"To arms!" She yelled, scrambling in her pocket and finding that the speaking spell was still cold and silent. She slammed it back into its place with a breathless curse. The counterattacking troops hadn't made it to their position in time. The cries of her men fighting for their lives echoed from the cliffs as the first enemies streamed into the camp.


	59. Uprising 2

The first wave of Gallan soldiers streamed into the camp in a roar of shouts and charging feet, trampling tents and fallen Tortallans with the same wild viciousness. Karenna saw them from the top of the distant rise where they'd camped. She shrieked and ducked back inside her tent, almost stumbling over her long skirts as she huddled beside the sturdy tent pole and trembled.

"They're here!" She whimpered, and screwed her eyes shut in prayer. "Oh, dear beloved gods, help us!"

"Of course they're here." The grumbling old maid didn't sound any different than she had an hour ago, when she was complaining about dropping a stitch in her knitting. She glanced up at the girl's white knuckles as they wrapped around the pole, and her wrinkled mouth thinned in a dry smile. "It's a war, mistress. What did you expect?"

"But I wasn't supposed to be here when the fighting started! Not me!" She cried, and shrieked in fear when someone ran past the tent. "I'm just supposed to be spying! Why didn't da warn me?"

"He probably had other things on his mind." The maid tied off the end of her row, bit off the trailing thread, and then slid the knitting off the bone needles. She sighed at the probably-ruined knitting, stowed it carefully in her apron, and then handed one of the long needles to Karenna. The girl stared at it blankly and the woman snorted and dropped it into her lap.

"What's that for?" Karenna whispered. The maid shrugged.

"If they get too friendly, aim for anything soft and squishy." She deftly hid her own needle in her sleeve and then sat back down, looking bored. "There's too many of them for it to do much good, mind, but at least I can tell your father I defended you."

"What?" Karenna stood up with a shriek and then squeaked as the needle fell to the floor. She dropped back to her knees, scrabbling for it. "They wouldn't dare to…!"

"They're soldiers. They won't know you're a miss-high-and-mightiness." The woman lay back with a contented sigh and shut her eyes. "And even if they did, they wouldn't care. Not everyone in the world has been trained to kotow to you, you know."

Karenna stared at her, tears starting in her eyes. She really does hate me. She realised with sudden sickness that broke through her terror. She stared at the dozing maid. She had never treated the woman any differently from any of the other servants, but then, she'd never treated any of them with anything other than a sweeping disdain.

She'd thought that she was being regal, refined. A lady. When she was a child her father had smiled approvingly at her when she learned to wave away the servants without deigning to look at them, and told her off for referring to them by their first names. She realised with a shock that she didn't even know her chaperone's name: she was just one of the many women who waited on her. She heard a crash outside, and a scream, and felt her teeth chattering in fear.

"If… if we get out of this… alive…"

The woman opened one yellowed eye. "I know, I know." She waved a hand wearily. "I'll be beaten…"

"No." Karenna's voice held some of her old regal command, and she bit back the tone with a flash of self-hatred. "No, if we live I… I'd like to know your name. And the others."

The maid stared at her, and her mouth opened for a moment in slack disbelief, and then she cawed out a cry when someone thundered through the tent opening in a clatter of armour. He skidded to a halt, clumsy in his haste, and fell to the ground with a crash.

"Stay back!" Karenna screamed hysterically, "I have a knitting needle! I'll use it!"

"What?" The soldier shook his head, dazed, and then recovered himself. "Lady, we have to get you away from here. They're heading towards this rise."

Both of the women nodded and followed him at a half run without another word. The man ran at a steady pace, but even so they were both struggling to keep up after a few minutes. Behind them, the screams kept them running in pure terror, but sometimes they had to stop and stare back at the lower ground as a bright explosion, or a haze of purple fog, or a bolt of greasy lightning burst in the middle of the battle.  
Soldiers fought each other viciously, but with those brutal spells the hardest warriors' skills meant almost nothing. They might exchange blows with the gods of war, but a magical swarm of oversized insects or a scalding cloud of steam would floor even the toughest soldier. When a mage was killed there was always a cheer, and the soldier's defensive shapes clearly involved staying near a mage who could cast a good shield in a hurry.

The trail the women had camped along was on a slope, a respectable distance away from the coarse tents of the men and the refugees. This was as it should be, and Karenna had never been so grateful to be as far away as possible from the nerve centre of the camp, which heaved with insect—like dots in the distance. The man ran determinedly uphill ahead of her, and despite her fear she was beginning to feel dizzy. Karenna fumbled at her corset lacings as she ran, tearing her fingernails in the ties as she tried to loosen it enough to catch her breath.

"Stop, stop!" She gasped, nearly fainting. "I… can't…"

"This is why only idiots wear clothes like this…miss." The maid caught up, huffing heavily, and efficiently started sawing through the knots with her belt knife and a certain amount of destructive glee. "They take hours to get on you, hours to clean, and they make you even more useless…"

"Thank you." Karenna breathed out in a rush, and then gasped in another breath. She was too tired to retort to the woman, but for some reason she felt her mouth twisting up in a smile. Perhaps it was relief at having gotten away from the fighting, but with the sweet summer breeze on their faces and the peaceful mountain trail ahead of them their terror was starting to fade, and relief made both women smile breathlessly at each other. At the same time, they both had to stop their eyes from drifting, horrified, to the bloodbath that they had just escaped.

"What are you doing?" The soldier demanded, running back down the hill towards them. He was one of the new recruits, they saw, with sandy Gallan hair sticking raggedly out of the bottom of his ill-fitting helmet. 

"I said run!" 

"I have to… to… get my breath…" Karenna told him, and looked up with a question in her over bright eyes. "Where are we… running to?"

The man hesitated and looked up the hill. There was nothing there, just trails that got thinner and thinner as even the trappers and goats stopped venturing up the steep cliffs. "There's… the lady Alanna said… to meet her…"

Karenna looked up at the mention of Alanna's name, but the maid caught her elbow with a warning look.

"He's lying." She said levelly.

"Lying?" The girl gasped, and then glared at the man when she realised exactly how stupid his story had been. Did he think she was dimwitted enough to believe that Alanna would leave her camp at such an important battle? She had even seen the distant glow of violet magic in the throng, casting shields that covered hundreds of men at a time. Of course Alanna wasn't here. She straightened herself up, using her most regal voice. "How dare you lie to me!"

"Horse gods protect me from nosy old hags." The soldier spat on the ground, and then he was suddenly moving, darting forwards with something shining in his hand. There was an odd sound, like water pouring through gravel. Karenna gasped as the hand on her arm constricted and twitched, turning white as the woman shuddered. Blood poured from the gaping wound in the old woman's neck.

"No!" She grabbed at the maid, and her stomach turned at the smell of coppery blood. She stared at the soldier in frozen terror. He was casually wiping his knife on his sleeve.

"I… I'll kill you!" She whispered, hand moving glacially. He glanced at her disdainfully.

"With what, mistress? A knitting needle?"

She gulped and raised it anyway. "I… don't… want…"

"Oh, calm down." He dragged the maid's corpse out of Karenna's grasp and threw the lifeless body down the side of the hill. She rolled down to the cliff edge, dropped out of sight, and then hit the rocks at the bottom with a sickening thud. Karenna's stomach turned, and she fell to her knees, retching and shaking.

"I'm here to take you home." The man sounded bored, as if nothing untoward had happened. "Your father sent me."

"You killed her!" Karenna couldn't look up, and the thought of her maid's choked cry made her heave again. _I never found out her name…_

"It's a war. Your father's war. People die. And now they'll think you fell off the cliff with her if they bother to look. They won't know you were a spy." The man sounded completely unconcerned, but a stronger note of disgust crept into his voice when he added. "She should have kept her mouth shut."

"You killed her." Karenna struggled to her feet, raising the needle again with hatred in her eyes. The man reached out, and she swiped at him. The point of the bone caught him across the wrist and he swore loudly, shaking the hot blood from his cuff.

She circled him, her eyes mad with fear. "I don't want to go with you! You can go to hell!"

"Bitch." He spat, licking blood from his wrist. With one easy movement he reached out and grabbed the needle, snapping it easily between two of his thick fingers. She whimpered and took a step backwards, away from him, but he moved like a snake, and the last thing she saw was his furious expression before his arm crashed into her head, and the world went dark.

888

Strange sounds echoed through the caves, and the small band of prisoners grouped a little closer together than they normally would. They weren't used to exploring these tunnels, and would have kept a wary eye out if there was any light. As it was, when they had split into smaller groups to search the tunnels they made sure that the ones with the best hearing were listening intently, acting as look-outs in a world without things to see.

"It's coming from over there…" Pebbles tugged the leader's sleeve in the right direction. "I've not heard a sound like that, not never."

"It sounds like… like fighting." Another hear-out whispered, "But not like the cave people. They don't have… metal, and wood, and… is that leather?"

"Soldiers," Numair breathed, and tugged at the leader's other sleeve. "Can we head towards them?"

"Best to stay away." The man said quickly, his breath a little shallow. "Don't want to get mixed up."

"We're already mixed up, idiot." Pebbles said, "Have you not looked at that pathetic bronze thing round your wrist lately?"

"I got mine for setting a bakery on fire." The man retorted. "Bakers do that. Not warriors."

"Bakers do it with ovens. You did it trying to hide your mistress's corpse." She returned. "Are you scared of people who might actually be able to fight back against your oh-so-dangerous choking spells?"

"Please," Numair cut across them, trying not to sound impatient as they moved forwards in their defensive huddle. "I think that's what we're looking for. If soldiers found a way in, then…"

"Well clearly…"

"Obviously, we…"

"It is indisputable that…"

"Forward!" Pebbles declared, her teeth grinning dimly in the gloom. Numair breathed a silent sigh of impatient relief and followed them.

The noises grew louder far before they found the cave, as the clash of weapons and the cries of the fighters echoed in the caves. A few times they took a wrong turn, only finding out they were going the wrong way by the listeners arguing over whether the noises had grown quieter. The caves twisted and turned, and Numair started to wonder how they would ever find their way back. The prisoners didn't seem too worried, but then they had nothing to return for. One part of their pit was much like another, although they didn't seem as comfortable in the darker cave-people territory as they had in their own section of the caves. Their mocking voices were quieter, and they seemed to tease each other more viciously as the light grew dimmer and dimmer.

Then, with a strange suddenness as they turned another hairpin corner, bright blue light lit up the tunnel. They blinked, rubbing their eyes, and muttering curse words under their breath. Numair realised that the prisoners hadn't seen daylight in a long time when they started talking about how it was brighter than they remembered.

"It's not daylight," he said, his voice apologetic as they looked wistful. "It's… well, the cave reflects back the light, and intensifies… er, makes it brighter."

The prisoners shrank back, and he realised they were uncomfortable out of the shadows. They stared at the floor, eyes narrowed, not meeting each other's eyes. The sounds of fighting were louder now, but they clearly didn't want to go into the brightly lit cave.

"We've found it," Pebbles said, her voice unusually cowed. "Let's… go back and… and tell the others. Get your wolf cub. Then we can talk about coming back."

"Something's happening!" Numair stared at her, and she looked away quickly. In the light her skin looked almost fish-white, and her eyes were oddly milky. He persisted, trying to be sympathetic but wanting to shake the lot of them. "You said you'd help!"

They blinked, and looked away, and he cursed broadly and pulled away from the group. A few hands grasped weakly after him, but when he glared back at them they weren't looking up. They inched closer to the wall and crouched there, waiting, in the shadows. He threw up his hands in silent frustration and left them. After a few steps he was running, seeing that the corridor went on for a long time with no sign of the fighters.

Then – there! The world was full of writhing shadows, and he skidded to a halt. The stone floor, already damp with icy water, was sticky with warm blood as the people fought. There were only tens of people, but it looked like hundreds, because for every man there were dozens of writhing shadows on the gemlike walls. Catching his breath, Numair saw that half of the fighters were the cave people, dressed in rags and flinching away from the brighter flashes of light.

The other men were wearing armour in Tortallan colours. Numair caught the edge of the wall in his shock. They must have broken through into the caves! He thought, his mind racing, and then he was running forward. He had seen a man he recognised – one who was shouting orders which echoed into meaningless sounds. Grabbing a short sword from one of the fallen men, he started fighting his way through the fray.  
It was too thick. He was shoved back so many times that he started to grow dizzy, his clothes sticking to his skin as he fell into puddles of water and blood by turns. Each group was so focused on fighting the other that they barely noticed the strange man trying to break through their lines. He forced himself to turn away, clutching the sword in frozen fingers as he ran back down the tunnel towards the prisoners. They would fight the cave people, he knew. They'd told him stories: most of them had friends who had been dragged away by the creatures over the years. They'd also told him about the pieces they'd managed to recover. The amount of detail they described them with had made him feel faint, but he understood their vengeful hatred of the mad mages completely.

"Cave people! Fighting!" He yelled back at the prisoners, hearing the short words echoing down the corridor and hoping they would be clear enough to be understood. "Help!"

There was silence, just the echo of the fight behind him, and then he heard an odd whooping sound that was so piercing he thought the clash of metal stilled for a moment. Carolling out the shrillest battle-cry he'd ever heard, Pebbles came streaming down the passage in a blur of gleeful fury. The others followed close behind, some with expressions closer to nervousness, some with oddly determined grins on their faces.

"Just kill the cave people! Not the soldiers!" Numair shouted as he kept up with them. Pebbles tossed her head, but he couldn't tell if she was agreeing or dismissing him before they crashed around the corner and collided, full speed, with the throng of people. There was a general cry of shock from everyone. The cave people, Numair realised as he grimly dragged one back from a soldier by the grimy hair, made noises more like animals than humans. It was as if they genuinely couldn't understand words any more.

The creature groaned and snuffled as it was hurled into the fray, and then hissed between rotting brown teeth as it spun around to attack him. Numair raised the sword, and they both cried out in shock when the cave creature's violent advance threw it full-force onto the blade. The creature crackled out an odd cry and looked down at the sword for a moment, and then its eyes shuddered shut. Numair tried to pull the sword free, imagining the next blow coming and him not being able to defend himself. There was a more human cry, and he looked around to see the captain about to slit a prisoner's throat. Numair recognised the baker. To the soldiers, he realised, the prisoners were just more ragged cave people.

"No! They're on your side!" He shouted, darting forward without the sword and raising his hands in surrender. Around him, the cave people were either dead, dying or fleeing for their lives. The soldier looked at him narrowly, and the mage found himself babbling. "Captain Obrams, It's me! Numair – the… the hawk mage? Do you know me? I'm friends with Alanna…"

Obrams let go of the prisoner abruptly. The baker scowled and spat at him before slinking away. The soldier wiped the spittle off tersely, meeting Numair's eyes. "Yes, I know you, mage. Friends. That's not what she's been saying since you left."

"I can imagine." He breathed out heavily, only just realising that his heart was racing. "Did you break through?"

"Through? Oh, in to the caves? No." The man scowled and kicked at the fallen body of a cave person. " _They_ broke _out._ We were waiting in the caves to set an ambush, and they dragged three of my men through this crack in the wall. Didn't even notice it was there, suddenly three of my best men were gone! When we followed them they pounced on us. Didn't realise there were so many of the vicious little bastards."

"Ambush?" Pebbles had fought like a demon, but she didn't sound at all out of breath. She strolled up to the soldier with her head tilted to one side and her hands on her hips. A knife dripped blood onto one of her bare feet, and her other hand held… Numair had to look away quickly… an ear. The captain scowled at her.

"We missed it. Got the message from Alanna just after we caught one of these blasted things chewing on one of the squire's feet. Why did no-one tell me there were cannibals in the mountain?"

Numair barely heard the question. He looked around at the chaos in the cave, and saw that many of the fallen men were wearing Tortallan livery. They were being picked over by his band of prisoners, who were casually taking weapons and boots as if they were in a tailor's store. Some had already pulled tunics over their ragged clothes, grinning at each other as they found biscuits or dried strips of meat in the soldiers' bags.

"Are they safe?" The captain was asking, his jaw a set line. Numair looked up, his eyes apologetic.

"Safe as houses." Pebbles inspected her ear, her eyes challenging him. "Safer than the cave people. We saved your lives. We don't like people owing us. Better you pay back now. The dead, they don't care what we take. We're even." She shrugged and turned away to search her own collection of corpses. Numair shuddered, and then tried to explain what was going on as quickly as possible to Obrams.

"I have an idea." He finished, his voice rapid. "You need more people – and powerful people, if you've already missed your ambush, right? They've already agreed to help me and Daine if we free them. Get your mages to take the chains off them in exchange for them fighting. You saw how they fight, they're fearless. And there are more of them further back in the caves, lots more, and they all want to get out of here. I'll send them this way. Orsille has an army of mages, it's true, but if they agree…" he couldn't stop a slow grin from creeping over his face, "If they agree, then we will, too."

"They're mad." The captain said, but his drawl had some interest in it. He stroked his beard absently, and then crooked a finger at Pebbles. "Come on, you. I know you're listening in. You have that glint in your eyes, ma'am. My cousin gets that look."

Pebbles winked flirtatiously at him, unable to stop a smirk from crossing her face. She stood up straight and looked around the room at the other prisoners. One by one, they looked up and nodded their agreement for her to be their spokesperson. She grinned widely and stuck her hands on her hips, strolling forward and throwing the ear away.

"Let's talk terms." She said.


	60. Uprising 3

Alanna hauled herself up the cliff, clawing at roots and rocks as the route got steeper to stop herself from siding back down the scree. When she was high enough she turned, holding on to a rotting branch to steady herself as she drew a deep breath. Her lungs screamed in protest, and it took a few gasping attempts before she could shout loudly enough for the men to hear her.

"Don't give up!" She yelled, and pointed with her free hand towards the narrowing valley. "Run! Retreat to the…" she stopped and coughed as another wave of the poisonous smoke one of the mages had cast billowed in the breeze. Their flight to higher ground had stopped the gas from burning their lungs into the thick black fluid other soldiers were vomiting up in the camp, but every whiff of smoke still made the men dissolve into painful hacking.

The good thing, Alanna thought as she gasped for air, If there is a good thing, is that their soldiers were caught in it, too. That mage didn't care who he killed… 

It was the only reason that most of her men were still alive. The ambush had weakened her lines, but Alanna had gathered three units of men into a defensive block, and they waited for the next line of organised infantry to break through the brawling survivors towards the pass into Tortall. Sure enough, with their uncanny knowledge of the local trails, the Gallans had emerged from the rocks and started to advance.

There were at least twice as many Gallan soldiers as there were Tortallans, and the blonde-haired men sniggered triumphantly behind their shields as they slowly drew forwards. In the front of their line, a captain with steel-grey hair was dragging something by a chain: a ragged man, manacles around his wrists, who stumbled but kept his feet.

The captain said something, and the man started laughing helplessly. He looked up at the Tortallans, and then at the Gallans, and raised a hand. The captain snapped his fingers, and the man winced as if he'd felt a static shock. Then he looked again at the Tortallans, and smiled thinly.

Yellow magic streamed from his hands and bled into the air. It was pure luck that the wind had caught the poisonous smoke just before it crept into the Tortallan line. The soldiers had watched in horror as scores of Gallan troops had doubled over. Blood bubbled and frothed at their lips as they writhed in agony. The captain screamed in agony and crumpled to the ground, his hand shaking as he reached out towards the slave. He whispered a word, and the slave howled and clutched at the chains that bound him in agony. The captain opened his mouth to shout something else and then vomited black blood onto the ground. He choked in it before he could even scream. 

They could smell the stink of it. It smelled like death.

It had been all Alanna could do to command an organised retreat. The men were ready to flee in panicked terror. She'd cast a shield, which was glasslike and fragile as she drew from the last shreds of her own gift, and had ordered them to follow the line of it towards the cleaner air in the higher hills. Now they were regrouping, but completely demoralised. Alanna realised that the smallest thing might send them into a full retreat, and set her jaw grimly.

"That mage was a slave! A slave!" She yelled, repeating the word so fiercely that some of them stopped to stare at her. "You saw what he did! He attacked his own side! So what if he's dangerous? He doesn't want to kill you any more than he wants to be in chains!"

"There are so many of them!" One of the soldiers shouted back, terror obvious in his voice. "For every mage we kill, they get tens, hundreds of our men! We're being exterminated, Lioness!"

"No…" She started, and then started coughing again. Dark blood speckled the ground in front of her, but she ignored it. "Get… into the narrow part of the valley. We can defend it…"

"From that smoke? From the quicksand?" Another soldier demanded. He was bold enough to argue now that someone else had already done it. Alanna stared at him, half furious, half breathless, and out of the corner of her eyes she could see men diving away into the trees and running to hide. She wiped grimy sweat from her forehead with a hand that shook with weariness.

"We can't let them get any further into Tortall," She replied, and there was a raw honestly in her voice that made the dissenters silent. "We can't. We can trap them here. We can fight from here."

There was some agreement, but several of the men still looked surly. "We've no chance of winning!"

"But we can stop them…" Alanna persisted, but she didn't know if they could hear her any more. Fights had broken out between men in her own troops, some calling the others cowards, some accusing them of being besotted and seeking out the Dark God. She was too tired to try to stop them arguing. She'd used so much gift fighting the mages that she was beginning to feel dizzy, and she almost agreed with them. There were too many mages, and they were all too strong. She climbed down from the ridge, forcing herself not to reel dizzily when her feet met solid ground, and grimly started to run towards the bottleneck valley.

"What's that?" Someone yelled, and she drew a breath.

"Oh, what now?" She put her hands on her hips and glared. "We only have to hold it until the others realise the Gallans are trying to break through to Tortall, and then…"

"No, Lioness, there's…!" The man pointed at the side of the trail. Alanna barely glanced where he pointed, but that was enough to make her shout out her own warning and draw her sword. The cliff-side was black with silhouettes, as scores of people swarmed down the rocks. Around her, the men gathered into a defensive cluster, their own weapons out.

"Where are they coming from?" Alanna demanded, squinting up at the empty cliff face. "There's no trail…" 

She scanned the skyline frantically, and then realised something. "That's… they're…!" She sheathed her sword with a bark of relieved laughter, and shoved one of the soldiers forward with jovial humour. "They're ours! It's the ambush party! They're alive!"

"I only see a few uniforms." One of the other soldiers muttered, not moving away from his own stance. Alanna shielded her eyes and looked more closely. The bright colours of Tortallan livery had caught her eye, but the soldier was right: most of the horde of people were dressed in brown and grey clothes that were more like rags than armour. They whooped and laughed as they slid down the cliffside, and shielded their eyes as if the afternoon sun was too bright for them. One of them skidded to a halt in front of the cluster of soldiers and ran her eyes over them critically.

"Well, who do we kill?" She demanded, planting thin hands onto ragged hips. She wore a Tortallan tunic over her own ragged clothes, and the vastly oversized uniform hung off her bony shoulders. Alanna blinked at her.

"Who the hell are you?" She retorted.

"I'm Pebbles. Named after the little rocks." The woman's slow voice was deliberately sardonic. "We're here to kill people. They said so. In exchange for letting us go free, we kill people. I don't like owing people anything. Neither do my friends. So, who do we kill?" 

Around her, more of the ragged people were gathering, looking around them with dazed expressions. Some of them had their fish-pale hands clasped over their eyes against the sunlight, although they couldn't resist peering out through their fingertips at the scrubland of the valley.

"You're… you're slaves?" Alanna asked, feeling numb as she realised what was going on. The woman winked, and when she grinned her eyes burned dangerously.

"Not anymore."

The knight grinned back, showing teeth, and pointed down the trail. "They just witched themselves, but they're following us. We need to defend this position."

"Why?" The woman picked at her teeth with a blackened fingernail. One of the soldiers explained that it was the pass that led into Tortall, and she shrugged nonchalantly. "So? It's just a bit of soil with some other rich bugger's name on it. We're not here to fight for your stupid country. We're here to kill. Where are the officials, Red?"

Red? Alanna forced herself not to react to that. She was too tired and too relieved to feel as irritated by it as she should. Still, she had to force herself to smile, and pointed down the trail. Pebbles grinned darkly and nodded once, and then whistled through her teeth. As one, all of the slaves lowered their hands from their eyes and clustered around her, and then they started off down the path at a determined run.

"Dear gods," one of the soldiers breathed, "There was nearly fifty of them. Did you see…?"

"And all mages," Alanna echoed, feeling the odd weight of the power they were draining from the very air in the valley. "Fifty very angry mages." She raised her eyes to the sky for a moment, and sent a silent thank you prayer to whatever god had decided to smile on them. Then she turned to her men, and saw new determination in their grimly set faces.

"Well," she said, and grinned at them. "Let's go."

888

Daine's eyes flashed open. 

"He's coming," she said, and she drew her knees up to her chest.

The old woman stared at her, but didn't ask who. There was only one person who scared the little wolf, she thought, and every prisoner in the pit said his name with that same vicious hatred. She lowered her wrinkled hand to the girl's wrist, and felt the tell-tale tingling warmth of the chain as magic ran through it.

"He's tracking you." She confirmed, and gently took the girl's hand in her own. "Be brave, pet. If he wanted to kill you he would burn you with that chain, not use it to find you."

"I know," Daine squeezed the woman's hand once and then let go. After her first waking flash of fear her voice had taken on a new determination, and she stood up and brushed some of the dank, mildewed water from her clothes. She glanced down, and helped the lady to her feet. "I think it's starting. The end of all this… this nonsense. Whatever happens, however it ends… it's not your fight. You should get away from here."

"No, do please stay where you are." The voice was clipped, but the order was pleasantly spoken. Daine shuddered and looked up at the man who had tried to throw her off the battlements, and forced herself not to react when he rested his hand heavily on her shoulder. Still, she couldn't help herself from gasping and flinching away when she felt the icy point of a knife pressed against the small of her back. 

The old woman cackled an odd laugh, acting up for the official. In her pretence, her stilted voice sounding far more deranged than even Anja's had.

"You won't get no pleasure from killing an old crazy hag like me, Official." She made a rude gesture and then laughed again. "Wouldn't make you feel that big to cut short my young life, eh?"

"I wouldn't waste my time." He said impatiently, falling for the act. He dug his fingers into Daine's shoulders. "But you'll just about do for a messenger. Wouldn't she, my dear?" He smiled thinly at her bewildered expression, and then brought the knife around from her back to her stomach. Daine shrieked and tried to pull away as he drew a thin line of blood, wrapping his arm around her so she couldn't escape.

"There. So, first, what should we tell your beloved hawk?" He murmured into her ear. "How about: Lord Orsille is being very serious? Have I proved that, you little bitch? No, you're right." He shook his head at her silence and cut deeper. She cried out and nodded frantically. "Ah, she agrees! There, hag. So first, tell the hawk that I'm being serious. Now, what am I being serious about, I wonder? Any guesses?"

"Stop it, you monster!" The old woman struggled forward, trying to grab the knife away from him and slicing her fingers open on the blade. Daine shook her head tearfully at the woman, knowing it was hopeless.

"He just has to snap his fingers and we die," she whispered, "Is that it, Orsille?"

"Close." He shrugged and pressed the knife back against her stomach. "But I can't tell if the hawk cares about that. It's not good bait. Whereas this…" he looked up at the woman, and his eyes were icy. 

"It's time to attack." He spat. "My mages have turned against me, my men are defecting, but I'll make sure that he won't. So you find the Hawk, and you tell him that he will attack before nightfall, or I will carve his bastard out of this whore’s belly and leave it rotting on a spike."

Daine whitened. "No…" she whispered, and didn't know if she was even speaking aloud. She saw the old woman reaching for her, but it was as if the world was slowing down. All she knew was her spinning mind, whirling through terrified thoughts. 

_He's gone mad. He's gone totally mad. And he knows… he knows that Numair will do it. And I won't be able to stop him… either of them…_

Her legs shook under her, and she felt the burn of the knife cutting into her as she tried desperately not to faint. Orsille growled and shook her, and she could see his pure hatred for her in his narrowed eyes.

"Orsille... please, please don’t do this. You're going to kill me anyway." She whispered, knowing it was the truth. She felt a tear run hotly down her cheek. "Do it, but... But please don't…don't… don't make him be the Hawk. Don't…"

His voice was thick with hatred. "I'm so glad we finally understand each other, slave."


	61. Death Flies on Soft Wings 1

To Daine's surprise, rather taking her to one of the main rooms, or to a jail cell, Orsille shoved her up several winding flights of stairs to a room at the top of one of the smaller towers. She had never been there before, but she noticed as she climbed that the walls were stronger, the windows more deep-set and the stones older than many of the other towers. 

This one must be the original bailey: the tower that was built when the keep was defensive rather than a prison. She hid a smile. Despite her frantic fear it was nice to know that the official was nervous enough to want to be in a strongly defended place. The stairs were guarded by several sentries, all of whom saluted smartly as they went past, but every man's eyes were guarded.

 _He really is losing._ Daine thought, almost wanting to laugh. _They're all nervous, and he's shoring up here where he can defend himself if the main walls are breached._

When they reached the room at the top of the tower Orsille turned and locked the heavy wooden door behind them, and even slotted a bar across the wood. Daine wondered if he was scared of the hawk breaking in, rather than Alanna's army, but for the first time she didn't say anything. She didn't want to goad him into killing her sooner than he planned. Every minute was another chance for Alanna to break through his defences and help her. She blinked in the dark room, which only had one window to let in the light, and noticed another shape in the corner.

"How's your head, dearest?" Orsille asked in a soft voice Daine barely recognised. The shape raised a dainty hand to a bruise on the side of her face, and scowled.

"I can't believe that oaf hit me." She sniffed, and looked away. "And you rewarded him...!"

"Don't start arguing again." The official's voice was strained. "He brought you to me, so I could keep you safe. That was his only mission, and he had my full permission to do whatever needed doing! He... well, we can talk later, if you're still angry about that treacherous maid..."

"She wasn't..." Karenna started, and then threw up her hands when her father turned away. Her face took on the slightly odd look it got when she was being deceitful. Daine wondered how Orsille hadn't realised his daughter was a spy; she was such a bad liar! Regardless, her words were typically snobbish, even if just the implication was enough to send chills down Daine's spine. 

Karenna shrugged and lowered her hand from her head with false nonchalance. "Well, it was just a maid, I suppose, and people die in wars all the time."

"Just so." Orsille chewed on his fingernail, apparently forgetting that either of them were in the room with him, and stared out of the window. He fingered the knife at his belt absently, muttering under his breath, and Karenna walked up to him.

"Are you worried, father? You were winning when I left!" Karenna said, but Orsille scowled and shook his head.

"You missed the reinforcements, beloved. They've been very enthusiastically taking out my mages. The lady knight somehow freed all the maniacs from the pit. Well, all of them except for that one." He spat in Daine's general direction, ignoring his daughter's moue of polite distaste. "And the hawk mage, of course. He'll come running after her, just you watch."

"Tell her he's been told to come as the hawk, or not at all." Daine retorted, hating the gloating note in the official's voice. "How desperate are you, Orsille, that you're wagering your victory on a creature you can't even speak to, let alone command?"

The official shrugged, manically cheerful in his insane optimism. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters. The hawk is the key in this battle, and everyone knows it. As soon as he's seen they'll know it's for me, and all of my soldiers will fight harder. The slave mages will fight loyally, because they'll know I'm going to win. And he... he will obliterate that red-headed bitch, and her pathetic army of escaped maniacs."

"He won't fight for you." Daine persisted, knowing she was sounding childish but unable to stop herself from repeating fervently her fervent prayer. "He won't."

"Of course he will." Orsille smiled confidently at her, the expression hollow and threatening even as Karenna stared at him in confusion. "After all, I have a rather good incentive for him, don't I Annette?"

"You're going to mutilate and kill my unborn child." Daine interrupted his cheerful words dully, hearing Karenna's horrified gasp. She knew that Orsille had simply wanted to gloat. He didn't want his daughter to know details, but now the words were out he couldn't avoid her shocked, tear-filled eyes.

"Father, is that... you wouldn't really...?"

"Of course I would. Why are you surprised? You already knew I would happily give permission to a soldier to beat you, my dearest one, in order to get you away from the battlefield." 

Orsille sounded impatient, but he didn't look at his daughter as he spoke, and his words were clipped. "Both of these things are necessary. They got results. You're here and safe; the hawk will obey me. The world isn't all pretty dresses and parties, you see. To rule, you must be prepared to be strong. It's time you learned what kind of man I am, daughter."

"I already knew." Karenna whispered, but Orsille had already turned away. He heard something and, with an odd look of triumph, he moved to look out of the window. Daine heard the distant noises too, and stood beside him, her hands clenching into fists.

With a piercing scream, the hawk burst out of one of the towers and soared into the sky. Its wings were ragged from flying through the close tunnels of the pit and the narrow corridors of the keep, and it spun in the air dizzily for a moment as if the sun had blinded it. Then it circled higher, so high that it was barely a dot in the air, apparently scouting the horizon before tearing off towards the distant smoke of the battlefield.

The people who had screamed and ducked their heads when the creature first appeared almost relaxed, pointing towards it, when it suddenly changed direction and plummeted towards the ground with wings tucked, so fast that the air tore around it. The people cried out and scattered, but just like before they tripped over one another in their fear. This time there was no-one to protect them, or to tell the hawk to stop, so the creature tore through them with wild feral glee. 

The courtyard was red with blood by the time it soared back up into the air, and when the creature let the drops fall from its claws they burned with black fire and made even the stone cobbles smoulder where they fell.

After its first rampage the hawk slowed down, but not from weariness. It chuckled softly to itself as it circled the keep, starting to drift lower as it slowed its wing beats. Eyes narrowed, it began to circle each building in turn, sniffing and glaring at each opening and window as it passed them.

A few times it stopped, cawing something close to laughter as it disappeared into a building. There would be shrieks, always female, always terrified. Every time the hawk reappeared with a furious expression and horribly reddened claws, sometimes dragging the bodies of the women with it out of the windows in petulant ire.

 _He's looking for me,_ Daine corrected herself with a sick rush of bitterness. _No, it's not him. It's the hawk. He's not there. He wouldn't be doing... doing that. But... it's looking for me. Why...?_

She thought back to the hawk, remembering the way it had sneered at her on the battlements the last time Orsille had released it. She remembered the feeling of its claws sinking into her arm on the night she had spoken to it on the frozen mountain side. She remembered the cold hatred in its voice when it had hissed in barely-formed words: _Kill her. I will dance in her blood._

 _Numair never knew how much the hawk hates me,_ She realised, drawing back from the window and realising her nails had bitten into her own palms. _I never told him. I couldn't bear to. He would have shapeshifted thinking the hawk would attack the Gallans, not the Tortallans. Not... not me._

She forced herself to move back, to keep watching the creature as it circled the keep with eyes narrowed. It seemed different than before. She blinked and squinted against the glare of the sun, seeing how the creature was more streamlined than before. 

It was as if all the human flaws that had made the bird weaker had been erased. It moved with stronger wing-beats, its bones lighter and its feathers longer, and the aquiline face that held those piercing black eyes was more bird than human. She could hardly recognise Numair in the creature. She had never seen a creature more empty, more devoid of humanity.

 _Numair said he made a deal with it._ She realised, her heart racing. _He said that he would stop shape shifting. I thought... I thought..._

She looked at the creature, and tried not to sob out loud. For all she knew, the thing would be able to hear her.

The thing that wasn't Numair anymore. The thing that would never be Numair again. She stared up at it, and knew without any doubt that trying to save her had been the last loving choice the man called Numair would ever make.

 _He planned this!_ She slumped to the floor, feeling lost and stupid and utterly helpless. _He made that deal with the Hawk before he even... I knew something was wrong, but I didn't... I never thought..._

"Oh, you idiot!" She whispered fiercely, and barely knew if she was talking about herself or the man she loved. Had loved. No, still loved. She forced herself to think that. She forced herself not to think of the word gone. 

"Cheer up, flower. It looks like it was true love, at least."

The snide voice was jubilant, and Daine looked up with sudden burning fury in her eyes. In her horror she had forgotten that there was anyone else in the room. But of course there was. Orsille watched her reaction with the same amount of smug satisfaction that he'd had on his face when the Hawk had first shrieked its way into the courtyard, while Karenna was staring out of the window with something close to horror, the livid bruise on her head stark against her pale skin.

When the wealthy woman's stunned eyes finally looked around they met Daine's, and she saw something there which made her take a step back. Karenna shook her head frantically, but already knew what the other girl was going to do. Daine smiled viciously, an expression that looked like it had been cut across her face rather than consciously chosen. Her eyes flashed furiously, like storm clouds full of lightning. She pulled herself deliberately to her feet. Ignoring the shrieks of the people outside, she faced Orsille for the last time.

"I never finished my list." She said, every harsh breath ringing heavily in her ears. The manic smile still slashed across her face when she raised her chin and spoke with every regal note that Hazelle had ever taught her in her voice. "You deserve to know who the traitors are. You deserve to know everyone who betrayed you."

"Daine, don't..." Karenna breathed, almost without thinking. Orsille whirled around, his eyes wide with shock as his daughter covered her mouth with one shaking hand. It was too late; she'd spoken aloud, and in that one true name he realised the truth.

"No..." he said, his voice hoarse as he started to shake his head. Karenna took a step backwards, trembling so much now that she almost tripped over the skirt of her dress.

"Daine, how could you..?" She started. 

Her eyes filled with tears, and her father tore his gaze away from the young woman as if he couldn't bear to look at her. All of the blood had drained from his face. He had been gloating a moment before, still convinced of his own invincibility, and the slave's words had cut him to the quick. For the first time his cunning mind could not settle on one thought. He found that he was almost afraid of what Daine would say next. Beside him, the daughter he had adored swallowed back a sob, and the sound started a slow burning fury in his stomach.

"You... you're lying." He snapped at the slave, but he was unable to find the savage voice that had terrified her for so many months. Daine took a step forward. She could feel only broken coldness as he backed away from her.

"Does it hurt?" She spat, "I hope it hurts."

"It's not true!" Karenna tried to protest, her voice too high. "Papa, Dai... the slave is lying! She's trying to turn you against me! She's trying to confuse you!"

"Your soldiers are all deserting. Your mages are being wiped out. Your daughter betrayed you." Daine's voice was merciless, her eyes almost fiery as she backed her torturer towards the wall. He stopped when he reached the window, gripping the sill with white knuckles and staring at her with the same stunned fury on his face.

Daine stumbled over what she said next, but only slightly, and the words were raw as they poured out of her. "Num... the hawk's not going to fight for you. It's not going to fight for me, either. It just wants blood and it hates us both. You've lost, Orsille. And I hope it hurts. I hope it feels like your heart is being torn in half." 

She stopped speaking, shaking, and pressed her fists to her chest in a gesture of unspeakable pain. "I hope it hurts you even half as much as you've hurt me."

"You..." he echoed the word, eyes narrowing. Daine took a breath, ready for him to reach out and attack her, but he spun and grabbed at Karenna instead. She shrieked in surprise and dragged herself backwards, unable to pull herself away from his bruising grip.

He shook her so savagely her head cracked back against the window frame, froth flying from the corners of his mouth. "You bitch! How could you do this to me? How? I gave you everything! I loved you!" 

"Stop it!" Daine threw herself between them, slamming her full body weight into his arms. She heard something snap, and he let go of his daughter with a yelp. Karenna reeled backwards, stunned. 

Daine clawed at the man, almost strangling him in her violent fury. Her words came out in violent sobs, almost torn from her throat. "Leave her alone! I won't let you hurt another person! Never!"

"Daine...!" Karenna shrilled from where she'd fallen, one trembling hand pointing out of the window. "Look...!"

Daine's head snapped around just as Orsille's hand closed around her wrist. 

A dark shadow suddenly blocked out all the light in the tower, a shadow with shining claws and blazing eyes, and the official screamed as savage talons bit into his shoulders and dragged him backwards through the window. His hand constricted, and Daine scrabbled helplessly at his clutching fingers as she was yanked forwards with him. The hawk screeched out a laugh as it hauled them both clear of the stonework, and then let them fall with a mocking shriek.

They fell for what seemed like eternity, and felt like a single heartbeat, before they both crashed into the mouldy hay that was piled around the base of the tower. Daine shook her head, half-stunned, and then blinked in confusion at the straw. As she struggled to free herself from the whiskery strands, she heard the odd crackling sound of flames, and then she understood.

 _They're burning the keep._ She thought, hearing the insane laughter of the escaped prisoners. They must have piled straw from the stables around all the stonework and lit it, but this pile was too damp and mouldy to do anything except smoulder. For a moment her heart lifted. 

_They've broken through the defences. Orsille really has lost!_

Orsille. In the word she remembered her current danger, and looked around frantically. She couldn't see the man in the messily stacked piles of hay, but she doubted the fall had killed him. 

She heard a scream and her heart sank. Of course. The hawk had dropped them here on purpose. The hawk had known full well that it wouldn't kill them, and now it was screaming towards the hay with mocking claws outstretched, reaching for its victims to tear and maim at their mortal flesh.

 _Please, please don't!_ She screamed at it, drawing from every scrap of her magic. 

It ignored her, and in that moment she knew that Numair was entirely gone. Whatever the creature was, there was nothing there which cared for her, or would listen to her words. 

The bronze cord which had bound their gifts together had burned away, as if it had never existed. She could no more talk to the Hawk than she could fight it off.

Daine looked around anyway, hoping for a discarded weapon, a hayfork or even a jagged piece of wood, but there was nothing. There was just hay and the stone cobbles of the keep.

The creature swooped down and gathered its wings around it regally, like a twisted cloak of ragged black feathers. Even standing on its clawed feet it towered over her, taking Numair's height and stretching it with the elongated horror of the birdlike form. It tilted its head from side to side, clearly relishing the moment as it moved towards its prey. Daine palmed a stone, backing away from the creature, and hefted it. It laughed at her pitiful weapon.

"No, my love," she whispered, "You're right. It wouldn't even slow you down. But I have to try."

The hawk tilted its head. There was the emptiness in its eyes, terrifying and bleak in its placid hatred of her, and its utter indifference to anything but its focus on its prey. Daine stumbled clumsily backwards through the hay. The creature laughed as she felt the fire-warmed stone of the bailey pressing against her back. She looked up into its feral eyes, and saw the black shadow of her death in the hawk's hollow gaze.


	62. Death Flies on Soft Wings 2

"Two murderers are standing in a courtyard," Daine said, her voice a strangled croak. "Who really cares which one of us dies?"

The hawk raised a bloodstained claw and scratched itself absently, leaving a trail of clotted red blood in its greasy feathers. It didn't even notice her words any more, let alone understand them. Still, the noise seemed to confuse it. It had blinked when she had dropped the stone, and now it stared at her with a slightly baffled expression. Raising the claw again, it pressed the sharp edge to her chest and then looked at her quizzically.

"No, I won't scream. I'm not afraid." Daine whispered. "I won't scream. If he... if you are still in there, I don't want you to remember that. Just... just be quick. Please. I don't want it to hurt. I don't... I don't want to die."

She felt a tear fall from her cheek, and the hawk hissed when the water hit its outstretched claw. She didn't move her hand to wipe her face, knowing it would see even her raised hands as an attack, but she looked it directly in the empty eyes. This close, it reeked of blood and of sharp, greasy fear, as if its victims were still clinging to it. She forced herself not to react, not to look away when it snarled at her, not to shudder when flecks of its saliva hit her face. 

Still, her words were almost sobs. "I d…don't want to die. I'm afraid of dying. But you? I'm not... not afraid of you, my love. Never."

It opened its pointed mouth and screamed at her, the shrill noise so close to her that she could feel the rush of air on her face. Her ears rang painfully with the sound. Still, she didn't react, and the creature hissed irritably at her. Its claw dug slowly, painfully into her chest, and Daine gasped.  
 _  
It's going to bait me until I react,_ she thought, _I'm its prey. It wants to hunt. It doesn't want carrion, it wants to fight. It's a predator - more animal than human._

"You need me to attack?" She asked it, sudden fire in her voice. "Fine. But it'll be fair difficult for you, I swear it. I won't be your prey."

It hissed, picking up on her changed tone, and raised a clawed hand to strike. She grabbed the creature's wrist, digging her fingernails into the softness between the delicate, hollow bones. She threw herself to the ground. The wrist twisted savagely in her grasp, and the creature cried out in pain and dragged its claw away.

Daine rolled clumsily out of its reach, thanking whatever gods were watching that the hay had softened her fall. She rose to her hands and knees, panting. When the hawk glared down at her its eyes were narrowed, and whatever curiosity had made it take its time before was utterly destroyed. It shrieked and threw itself at her, sending them both rolling through the straw in a tangle of arms and limbs and claws.

The Hawk slammed into a human girl on one side of the bailey, but by the time they crashed into the wall it was grappling with something else entirely. Raising half-human, half-animal claws, the wolf howled and attacked.

Close by, unnoticed by the two creatures, a man struggled to his feet and froze, stunned by the sight in front of him. His hawk... his beautiful, powerful hawk... had stopped using its magic and its soaring wings and was tearing at another creature with pure feral outrage. 

The second creature fought back, but there was less fierceness in its assault; several times, when it could have really hurt the hawk, it whined and stopped itself, darting away instead. The second creature's belly hung heavily under it, and with a shock of sickened outrage the man realised who it was.

 _She's killing my hawk!_ He raged, still paralysed with shock. 

He took a step forward, and then his calculating mind cut in and he watched more closely. The hawk struck out at the wolf violently, which would have sent it crashing into the wall of the tower if the other creature's fierce jaws hadn't closed on the delicate, bird-thin wrist. Those iron jaws could snap closed in a second, mauling the bird and stopping its flight for good, but the wolf let go almost as soon as it had attacked and darted backwards again, panting.

Orsille found himself giggling, muffling the sound against his bruised hands. 

_She can't kill it! She can't make herself do it!_ He watched with rising glee, knowing that the Hawk would surely win, and he smirked at the struggling wolf. _Goodbye, Annette._

The wolf snarled and leapt at the hawk, and its full weight slammed into the creature's chest. Rather than recoiling, though, the hawk's eyes narrowed with cunning thought, and it rolled backwards through the hay, letting the wolf's momentum carry it past it and over its head. The wolf yelped in surprise, but the sound was cut short in an agonised yip as it crashed into the stone wall and lay still, twitching in pain. The hawk hissed through its teeth, rising painfully to its own feet, and moved towards her.

Orsille laughed. He couldn't help it.

The Hawk's head snapped around, its eyes narrowed, and in that one moment it completely forgot that Daine existed. Suddenly, all it saw was the Official. 

Orsille took a step backwards at the hatred in the creature's eyes.

Daine had hurt it, and that was the only thing that kept the official alive as he stared back at the creature in terrified silence. She had made it slow, and clumsy, and that gave Orsille enough time to draw his knife. He could hardly breathe. His heart felt like a solid living lump, pounding in his throat so painfully that tears started in his eyes. 

Knife. He had a knife. He had a chance. A weapon. A blade. He gulped and fumbled it in his trembling fingers.

It was still coated with the girl's blood; he could feel the slippery filth of it. The light wasn't gleaming off the stained blade enough to tell the hawk that it was there. He held it carefully behind one arm and waited, breathing shallowly in fear. 

The hawk stepped deliberately towards him. It moved suddenly and Orsille gasped as the creature reached down to one clawed foot and yanked something away from its ankle. It hurled the object forwards. It struck the man across the face and he yelped, feeling the warm metal links of the golden slave chain slicing into his skin.

Orsille stared up, and the creature glared back down at him. Its breath was ragged, and it moved its pointed mouth clumsily. The words were as deformed as its face as it leaned closer and closer and said, _"I..._ own... me."

Then, so suddenly that the movement was a blur, one of the vicious claws clamped around the official's neck. He felt himself being lifted bodily into the air, his screams turning into choked cries as air was crushed from his throat. His face flushed with blood and then turned purple as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. 

The hawk laughed and shook him like a rag doll.

Orsille slashed out blindly with the knife. It connected with flesh. The creature screamed, and the man pushed harder, desperately shoving the blade into the hawk's stomach with all his remaining strength. 

There was a strange bubbling sound, and the hawk writhed in pain. It didn't let go of the man, but it spasmed in genuine agony as it dragged itself back and away from the biting blade. Then it screamed and fell forwards, crushing Orsille under eight feet of solid muscled flesh. With every flail it slammed its hands into the ground, barely aware that the screaming human still fought weakly from the grip of one clenched claw.

It shrieked so loudly that the cries of the distant soldiers were silenced, and then in a final whirl of claws and feathers it slammed into the ground.

For a long moment there was silence. 

Then the hawk groaned, a noise so ragged it sounded as if it had been torn into shreds. Dark liquid pooled around the elongated body as it twitched, but it was not blood. It was too dark to be blood. It was a black liquid that reflected none of the light and didn't bleed into the hay. 

The creature twitched in pain, disturbing the liquid, and it burst into the air in a flurry of weightless black. Millions of feathers, so small and dark that they looked like flowing tar when they pooled on the ground, turned into a soot-black snow in the breeze. The hawk shuddered and twisted in them, keening softly, and then it lay still.

The wind whispered over the silent courtyard, and carried away the last of the feathers in a gentle caress. The hawk was gone, carried away on the unfeeling breeze, and all that was left was a naked man. He lay by the tower, curled up in agony, and for a long time it didn't seem like he was breathing. Then he gasped in a harsh, painful breath, and opened his eyes.

"Daine," Numair whispered, and then he doubled over in agony. 

He raised a shaking hand to his eyes, and saw the dark red of blood coating every trembling finger. His stomach felt like it was on fire, and when he cautiously took away his other hand a fresh flow of warm blood burst from the deep wound on one side. He sobbed and pressed the hand back, staunching the flow enough to move, and looked desperately around.

Another man was slumped on the ground beside him. He was very dead; his head and limbs had been smashed into a bloody pulp of raw meat against the stone. The sight made bile rise in his throat. Numair couldn't recognise the man from his mutilated remains, but when he unpinned the corpse's cloak he saw the insignia on it and realised who it had been. He froze, looking again at his bloodied hand and the gore which coated the stones and seeped into the hay around both of them. 

He tried frantically to work out what had happened... but his mind was blank. He couldn't remember anything that had happened, or why. All he knew was that he was in pain.

He had to take his hand away from his side to tear the cloak into strips, and by the time he had wrapped them tightly around his waist and stemmed the new flow of blood the mage felt dizzy. Even with several layers of bandage he could feel blood seeping through the fabric and cooling against his skin, making him shiver in the cooling night air. 

Grimacing in distaste, he pulled the clothes free from Orsille's shattered corpse and dressed himself, trying not to move too much when he pulled the thick tunic over his arms. Still, the movement made him reel in agony, and he rested his head against the cool stone of the tower for a moment.

He felt... empty. Not tired, not injured, although he knew that this wound was far, far worse than the one which had first brought him into the prison. He knew, too, that he had used more magic in his mindless rampage than he had done in years. But neither of those feelings made him feel empty. 

What made him pause and open his eyes, pushing back the nausea of pain, was the feeling of being utterly alone inside his own mind.  
 _  
The Hawk!_ He realised. _It's... it's gone..._

He probed at his reeling mind like a sore tooth, but there was nothing there except his own core, and the feeble remnants of his own spent magic. There wasn't even...

"Daine!" He remembered aloud, coming out of his meditation so rapidly that he nearly choked on his own word. Now he was beginning to remember. The message from the tearful slave in the depths of the pit, the blinding anger, the Hawk...

"Daine!" He nearly shouted the word the second time, raw panic in his voice. 

Orsille had taken her, and now Orsille was dead. Daine had to be nearby. She _had_ to be.   
Numair hadn't realised how used he'd been to finding her through their magical link until now, when it was gone and he had no idea where she was, or if she was even alive. He struggled to his feet, reeling in pain, and stared around frantically.

The courtyard was a mess, with hay dragged in a thousand directions. Cobbles had been physically wrenched from the walls and the ground, some of them with deep claw marks gouged into them. Numair ran his long fingers over one, swallowing rapidly. They fit his hands, as he knew they would. He had done this. 

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a shock of brown hair. Biting back a cry, he ran to the unconscious girl, ignoring the shooting pain in his side as he dropped down into the hay beside her.

"Be alive, be alive," he pleaded, reaching out a shaking hand to her naked shoulder and almost sobbing when he felt that she was warm. "Daine, sweetling, please wake up. Please, magelet, don't be dead. Oh gods, Daine, please don't be dead."

She didn't move. Like himself, she was covered in dark blood. It oozed from dozens of deep gouges in her arms, as if she'd raised them to defend herself, and countless shallower slashes on her body where she hadn't managed to. Numair recognised the same claw marks from the stones and this time he was sick, almost passing out in agony as his stomach heaved and stretched the stab wound.

He realised, panting in agony, that Daine had been lying here long enough for her blood to start to dry. Orsille's clothes had still been warm with wet blood. The realisation that he had attacked Daine first made him shudder.

Daine's chest rose shallowly as she drew in a shaking breath. Numair laughed and sobbed and kissed her cheek, feeling his own heart racing as his blind panic ebbed away and was replaced by an urgent sense of imminent danger. He ignored the increasingly close sounds of fighting, the distant crackle of fire, and focused on her. 

"Daine, wake up. You have to wake up, sweet, you have to. You can do this, just… just open your eyes, sweet. It's so easy, so simple, you'll see. Just… just wake up, please, please..."  
She shifted painfully, slowly opening her grey eyes. She met his gaze for a moment, and then something dark crossed her face and she sat bolt upright, shoving herself backwards and away from him in a blind panic. "No! Get away!" 

"It's me!" he whispered, unable to find the strength to stand up and follow her. He looked down at his hands, crossing and uncrossing them in his lap. The feather mark that had tattooed one hand was fading, almost invisible under the drying blood. His words were so soft even he could barely hear them. "It's me."

"Hawk." She spat, grabbing a stone from the ground and raising it warningly in one hand. He shook his head wearily and she hesitated, but still kept the stone raised. 

He remembered that same fiery look from a lifetime ago. It was the defensive fury that she'd worn like a cloak when she'd first been told to care for him. He'd thought it had gone for good, but now it shone from her grey eyes like an accusing flame. 

Numair shuddered. It felt like, if he dared to meet those blazing eyes, he would see mirrored there all of the terrible things that he'd done.

"I don't know what I did, Daine." He couldn't make himself look up. He couldn't face her hatred, her anger. He couldn't bear her fear. "I can't remember."

She hissed at him, and he looked up in shock. There was something uncanny about her, something feral and wild which wasn't anything to do with the girl called Daine. He struggled to his feet, ignoring her wordless growl, and took a step closer to her.

"Away!" She snapped, and covered her stomach defensively with one hand as she raised the stone. Around the weapon her fingers shimmered, warping from human fingertips to ragged claws, and then he understood.

"Wolf," he said, in the same tone that she had named him the hawk. The girl bared her teeth and took a step forward, fearless, deadly, and inhuman. Numair stood quite still, meeting her fury with exhausted sorrow as he looked at what he'd done to the woman he loved. "Oh Daine, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry." She sneered, raising her head and tilting it to one side. "Sorry." 

He pressed his hand to his side, to where the bandage was stiff and cold with his blood and his skin burned with hot pain. It wasn't a mortal wound, not quite – he knew that, and now he realised the Hawk knew it, too. 

He could feel the creature. It was waiting, biding its time, ready to pounce and claim his body as payment for the months it had given him. But it was waiting, he was sure of it. He could feel its presence as if it were lurking a few feet behind him. He could almost feel its rancid breath on his neck, making his skin prickle in uncanny fear. But it wasn't in his mind any more. He could control his magic without going mad. It was just… waiting.  
 _  
What's the point of it possessing a dead body?_ Numair thought callously, almost hating the creature for its cold logic. _It's waiting to see if… if Daine will throw that stone._

_It's waiting for me to die._


	63. Death Flies on Soft Wings 3

"Daine," Numair said quietly.

The feral girl growled softly and raised the stone a little higher, but hearing her name made her eyes focus, briefly, on the man in front of her. 

He leapt for the moment, ordering in a quick but stern voice: "Daine, look at your hands."

She looked down automatically, and saw the dried blood that covered one hand.

“You’re standing on the gallows.” Numair said, forcing himself to be cruel. “They killed Cloud. Don’t you remember?” 

For a heartbeat she swayed, and gasped in something close to human comprehension. The rock fell from her trembling fingers.

It was just a moment of emotion in the feral blankness. Just a second, but it was enough. The girl’s eyes narrowed in anger and were almost feral again by the time Numair grabbed her wrist, but the wolf was too late. He seized her hand and reached out for her mind in the same breath, shoving the snarling creature back from her core with so much brute force that it reeled away.

The wolf spun, growling, sinking savage bronze claws into the glowing white ground. Numair looked around, almost gasping at the sudden absence of pain now he wasn't in his physical body, and realised that he was inside the glowing white core of Daine's magic. 

The wolf slashed at her core in a show of fury, ripping great chunks of light into the air. As soon as they were torn away they faded, growing dark and lifeless and dissolving into ash. It was horrifying to watch. Each glimmer of fading light was something that made Daine human- a memory, a fear, a skill – all scattered in the same violent attack.

Standing in her core Numair could feel her presence, but the shade of the human called Daine wasn't anywhere to be seen. That fact alarmed him far more than the immense wolf in front of him: this was Daine's battle, not his. The slightest magical attack could destroy her mind forever. He had to find her, not fight.

"I don't blame you. I'd be hiding too," he muttered, and then laughed ruefully to himself when he thought of the Hawk. "Well, I suppose I did. For years! But it's no way to live, magelet. Trust me on this one."

There was silence, as if the air was holding its breath. Numair studied the wolf. It had stopped its furious rampage but was still keeping its distance, wary of the mage after that first attack. It was strong here, and it knew it. Numair crouched down, keeping eye contact.

"I let it in." The voice was soft, sorrowful.

A tiny child sat on the ground beside him, her arms wrapped defensively around her knees as she stared, wide-eyed at the creature. 

“You did?” He asked the girl, sitting down beside her. “Why?”

She didn't look around, but sighed and curled up more tightly. "I had to. It roared so much, and so loudly, and it was fair angry, but I thought maybe it was my friend. But now it won't leave." She leaned her head against the mage's shoulder. Her voice was confiding, as if she was telling him a secret when she admitted, "It doesn't like me very much."

"Daine?" He asked cautiously, reaching out to touch her. She blinked, and although her weight against his shoulder was warm and solid, his fingertips passed through her cheek like mist. The girl giggled at his expression and vanished.

"Perhaps I can talk to it," this voice was older, less self-assured. 

The brown-haired girl was more like the Daine he knew, although her face still had a childlike roundness and her clothes were ragged and stained. Her hair wasn't shorn but hung down her back in knotted, unheeded locks.

She didn't look at the man. Her worried eyes were fixed on the wolf. She raised her hands towards it, walking forwards. Her steps were awkward as heavy chains around her ankles slowed her down. The wolf growled at the shine of the iron manacles on her wrists and snarled at the chain that clanked loudly in the soft silence.

"They said that I imagined you. They said you would go away. They said it was all my fault." Daine's voice grew more bitter as she sped up, talking angrily to the wolf. "If you leave they'll unlock the door. They'll let me go free. I can leave this place. They won't call me mad any more. They won't. I'm not. I'm not!" 

"Daine, don't…!" Numair started reaching out for the girl, but she was already too far away. She raised her hands, lifting the heavy iron chain to strike out with it. The wolf howled and bounded forwards. It leapt to knock her to the ground, but its paws passed through her like the mage's hand had passed through the first girl, and it landed with a yelp.

 _Memories._ The man thought, staring around him with wide eyes. _They're memories. That was Daine as a little girl, and… and the older one must have been from when they first locked her up, I guess._

In front of him the wolf shook its ragged head and regained its feet. It was clearly confused, snarling at anything that glittered around it and flinching away from its own tail. For a second the tiny child appeared again, catching at the creature's soft tail and giggling at her own private joke.

"I was lost in the forest, and you led me home," She grinned, petting the creature's fur. As suddenly as she'd appeared she was gone again.

"I was lost in the forest, and I heard the howls, and knew the wolves would help me." The older Daine reappeared. She had a new expression on her face, one that looked unbearably sad. "I knew they would help me find the bandits. You helped me to find the wolves. You helped me learn how to kill."

"The Hawk tried to kill me, and you protected me." The last voice made Numair shudder. He couldn't bear to look up at this Daine. Her soft voice was sharp, accusing more than one monster. He tried to cover his ears.  
 __

_Daine’s sending these memories to fight the wolf. She tries to attack it, to force it out, and then the other voices try to coax it into staying. But she's here, and fighting it. These words will get her nowhere. I need to… need to…_

"I gave you your words, Veralidaine Sarrasri" he whispered, pressing the palm of his hand to the white ground and letting himself sink into a peaceful stillness. A note of command, thick with power, rang through his words. "I gave you your voice. I reclaim it! Give it back."

A throng of stubborn girls folded their arms and glared at him.

"No."

"No."

"No."

"Why?"

He looked at the last speaker, hearing the same strength in her voice that the others had used to refuse his order, but also a frank curiosity. It was the child, the youngest Daine. Suffering had never touched her. She smiled openly with a gap between her front teeth and an unruly mess of sun lightened hair throwing wisps against her unlined cheeks.

"It's for a game." He said, smiling encouragingly back at her. "I want to chase the wolf!"

"Chase?" She looked up, biting her lip, and a slow frown crossed her face. "That's nasty. Animals have feelings too, you know!"

"I know! So don't you think he'd want to play with me? I like chase games, don't you?"

"Ooh, yes! If it's a game! Can I play too?" She asked, breathless in her excitement. He nodded, and she made a little squeal of excitement and clapped her hands. Then she flushed and covered her mouth, her eyes laughing. "Do I be quiet now, mister?"

"Please." He smiled again, holding out a hand towards her. 

She hesitated, looking up into his eyes, and then she took his hand. This time her skin was warm and living. 

As soon as he touched her he released the surge of magic he'd been storing, shielding her and linking her to him with an unbreakable cord of black fire. Unlike the twisted mess of gift they had shared before, Numair deliberately constructed a link that he knew would not fade, or break. It couldn't, not now the Hawk had left him. 

He had asked for the girl's voice and that’s what he took. He knew that the small glimmer of bronze fire she surrendered was enough for him to tease out the strands of her gift and link his own magic to it. As soon as the link was sound he pushed his magic through it, feeling the strength leeching from his shade as he gave all the magic and her voice back to her.

The child gasped, breathing in an impossibly deep gulp of air that seemed to pull all the other memories of Daine towards her. When they touched their fellow shade they vanished, blending into the child's glowing skin as she burned first with bronze fire, then with black.

Numair held her hand tightly, feeling it grow and twist in his grasp until, with a final sob of air, the girl froze. Now she was older, more a woman than a girl. She shivered and stared at him with wide eyes.

"I remember you now," she whispered. 

Numair smiled, willing his dizzy eyes to focus after spending so much magic. He wanted nothing more than to drift off to sleep, but he didn't dare while the wolf was still growling in the far corner. This shade was beautiful, her rags replaced with a dress embroidered with green leaves. She wore an intricate belt and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. This shade was the Daine he'd feared he'd never see again: the strong, fearless woman who he had fallen in love with.

"There you are," he murmured. She blinked a few times, reaching up to trace the shape of his face as if she didn't quite believe that she was awake.

"Are we dead?" Her stunned words were so matter-of-fact that the man laughed. He shook his head.

"I'm too tired to be dead."

She looked confused, opening her mouth to ask a question, and then stopped herself and glanced at the glowing walls. "That's magic, isn’t it? We're inside... what, my gift? Why?" She looked around and tensed. "The wolf is here. Is the Hawk here too? They were... they were fighting. I think I remember... I... “ She looked down at her hands, looking horrified for a moment as they flickered between her ghostly wholeness and her physical body’s scarred flesh. “Numair, what happened?"

"I can't remember either." He said quickly, "But the Hawk is gone, sweetling. I think it's because... no, forget that." He didn't want her to know that he was hurt. He corrected himself quickly, "I don't know why it's gone. But the wolf is here."

Daine looked like she understood but she still repeated his last few words with a nervous tremor in her voice, "The wolf is here?" She turned the statement into a question with a definite challenge in her eyes. 

He nodded, barely able to speak, and she raised an eyebrow. "So, clever clogs, how am I thinking straight? This is the middle of my gift. If the wolf is in here then I should be barking at kittens right now."

"I gave you my magic. Nearly all of it, this time. It's shielding you." He swayed, and bit the inside of his cheek so he could stay awake. "So you can fight. So you can win."

"But..." she started, looking worriedly at him. "You gave me all of your magic? Don't you need it to..."

"I'll explain later." He cut her off, and then laughed shortly at the stubborn expression on her face. "Oh, I didn't give it to you so you could waste it fighting me, Daine. If you're going to argue so much I'll just take it back!"

She still looked worried, so he kissed her forehead gently. "It's a gift, little one. For both of you. It's the only way I can protect you, now I..." he blanched and laughed shortly, humourlessly, hoping she hadn't noticed the slip. Still, his hand crept to his stomach. Now that he was weak his shade was starting to feel echoes of pain. He made himself smile. "Please don't argue, Daine."

Daine tilted her head to one side, birdlike in her silent question, but before she could voice it the wolf growled behind her. She turned to glare at it with sudden fury in her gaze. 

"No." She said stubbornly, "You won't hurt him. Don't even think it."

"Don't reason with it, Daine." Numair whispered, "Kill the damn thing. It's been... tearing up your... your mind. It's trying to kill you, not protect you. It's not your friend. It's not... not worth saving. Kill it."

The wolf howled in fury at his words, clearly understanding every single one. Daine's eyes narrowed, and she carefully helped Numair to his feet. She led him to where he would be safe at the farthest wall. Then she turned to face the creature. It whined, faking a limp, then it shivered pathetically. Daine shook her head. There was absolute hatred in her gaze, not pity, and the wolf's show of pitiable weakness didn't sway her for a second.

"No, he's right." She spat. "You have to die."

She took a threatening step towards it, and then changed her mind. Kneeling down, she reached through the glowing floor as if it were smoke, gathering up more memories. They pooled in her hands and slowly became solid. The white magic stretched and darkened, forming the shape of a weapon.

"That's your bow!" Numair was stunned. "How did you do that?" He shook his head. "I don't know if that will work, magelet. The other memories couldn't touch it, so..."

"It's not a memory. It's my bow." She told him shortly, and hefted it. A quiver of arrows formed against her shoulders, and she smiled. "It's as real as I am."

"But... how...?"

"Let a lady have some mysteries, my love." She said tartly, and then smiled brilliantly back at him. For the first time she met his eyes fully, and in that moment her eyes burned with fierce loving wonder that told the man how much she'd never expected to see him again. Then, with an effort, she tore her gaze away and rounded on the wolf.

It growled, and she shook her head. So quickly that her hands were a blur she drew an arrow and notched it onto her bow, drawing the string back and holding it as steady as if she'd practiced every day of her life. 

"I don't miss." She said, and if there was a tremor in her voice it was barely noticeable. The wolf whined and ducked its head down, trying to slink away from her. She followed it calmly with the point of her arrow.

“Please shoot it. Why are you waiting?”

"It’s difficult. I can’t make myself… I can feel it, trying to get inside my thoughts." Daine said, her voice distant. Her voice tailed off. The wolf realised that its wild voice wasn't being listened to, and instead began to shiver. A dim greasy light grew around it for a moment, and then it was looking up through the wide innocent brown eyes of a cub. It whimpered softly. The girl's hands shook, and for a moment she lost her aim.

"Kill it, Daine." Numair said with a warning note in his voice. She took a step back and stared at the creature's frail, trembling shape.

"But..." She whispered, almost pleading. "It... can't I just let it leave? It won’t hurt me. Look at it."

"Do you think that's the shape it'll take when it controls our baby's mind?" He didn't mean his words to come out as harshly as they did, and the sting of them made Daine stare at him in horror. 

White, shaking but silent, she raised the bow and loosed the arrow in a single shot. It struck the creature between the eyes. For a heartbeat it staggered back in death-like throes, but then it made a sound worryingly like a snigger and stood upright, still in a sweet, innocent cub-form as its claws elongated and its eyes narrowed.

Daine drew a breath and stood in between the creature and Numair, drawing another arrow but aiming it with far less confidence than she had before. The creature took a step forward, and another. It scraped a claw viciously along the glowing ground, and Daine cried out in pain and clutched her head as a great swathe of her memories was savagely torn away.

“Why can’t I hurt you?” she whispered, and her fingers spasmed against her forehead. The wolf snarled in fury, and she straightened up with another arrow ready to fire. Her shoulders set in fatalistic determination. 

Then... the creature paused, reaching up uncertainly to the arrow which pierced its flesh. It looked as if it was only just beginning to feel it. 

The bolt shimmered, and then it started to glow in earnest with a light so pure that it made the white core of Daine’s magic seem dull. Brighter and brighter it shone, until Daine had to turn away and shield her eyes from the light. She ducked down next to Numair, and they clung to each other blindly as the creature started to scream. It was as if it were being burned alive, but there was no heat. There was only the light, roaring through space and time like a shrieking absence of sound.

And then there was nothing. Daine found herself curled up in a defensive ball, fingers tightly enmeshed with Numair's. He moved strangely, and it took her a moment's panic before she realised that he was choking back laughter.

"Gods, Daine, where did you get that arrow?" He demanded, almost hysterical now as relief and shock poured out of him in wordless laughter. She smiled feebly.

"Well, the gods might be the right people to ask." She suggested tentatively, and then realised that the quiver that had been slung across her shoulders had faded into nothing. She shrugged. "They might want to keep their own secrets."

"Then I say we let them." He stood up with a weary groan and helped her to her feet. "And when we get out of here I swear we'll be burning so much incense to thank them that they'll be coughing in the divine realms for a month."

She giggled and joined him, letting him lean against her shoulder wearily as she looked around. Her head swam for a moment, and she pressed cool   
fingers to her forehead in wonder. "I... I really killed it? It's really gone?"

"Forever." He replied, and touched her cheek lightly. "Are you alright?"

"It's been with me for so long, I feel almost lost. Or at least, I feel strangely lonely without it constantly prowling around my mind." She smiled shakily and shook her head. Her fingers crept back up to her head again, and when she rubbed her temples the skin turned white as she pressed hard against the skin. "I can't describe it."

"No, I understand." Numair remembered the eerie emptiness he'd felt when the Hawk had gone and embraced her for a moment. He didn’t like to be reminded of why the Hawk had left him. The thought made him shiver, and he faked a yawn to pretend it was from weariness. Daine hadn't noticed his involuntary movement, but she was frowning at something, and when she turned to him there was an odd question in her eyes.

"Did you see that?" She asked, pointing to a corner where the light formed the memories of trees. He squinted and shook his head apologetically, and she bit her lip. "I thought I saw... it was a lady. It was my ma. I really thought I saw..."

"This place is made up of your memories," he explained gently, "So you probably did see her."

Daine shuddered and looked at the ground. There were memories she never wanted to see again, and if they were going to jump out at her like that uninvited she wanted to be as far away from here as possible. It didn't matter if the real world was full of officials and fighting, she thought, she wanted to be in a place where she had the choice of fighting back.

"Speaking of getting out of here..." she started. Numair shook his head.

"I don't know, sweet. It's your mind. You're the one with all the magic."

"Well, that’s simple enough! Last time I imagined a window. This time I'm fair certain we need a door." She smiled mischievously at him, and shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them and looked past the man's shoulder she giggled and pressed her hand to her lips.

Numair turned and saw what she was laughing at. Instead of a door she had summoned a palatial portal, thronged by ornate pillars and shining marble statues. It was bordered by gold leaf and precious gems, but throughout the whole thing there was a sense that it was a forest, full of leaves and animals and life. All the stones were shades of green, and the marble was so softly carved it almost seemed to breathe.

"If a god is in here helping us, he deserves to leave in style." Daine said, and then laughed out loud. "Oh, but I didn't expect it to work! Your magic is so much stronger than mine. I think I overdid it."

He grinned. "After everything, magelet, I think we deserve to leave in style! You couldn't conjure up a cheering crowd and some Yamani fireworks, could you?"

"And a band of minstrels?" She teased, and looped her arm around his waist. He leaned against her gratefully. She frowned at his tiredness. "I'd rather just give you your magic back, Numair."

He was silent for a moment, pretending to study the shapes carved into the door frame. When he finally spoke his words were carefully chosen. "Keep it away from me. No matter what happens. If you have it, the Hawk can't use it."

"You can't use it either." Daine pointed out, and he shrugged. She opened her mouth to ask something, and when he tried to step away from her she shook her head and caught her shoulder. "Numair, I know something's wrong. What do you mean, 'no matter what happens'? What's happened? Where’s the Hawk? Why are you being so... odd?"

"Daine!" The voice was shrill, terrified, and it shook both of the mages out of their own thoughts. It was Karenna's voice, coming from the real world beyond the door, and it was thick with fear. Daine looped her arm back around Numair's waist, her question forgotten, and together they hurried through the door towards their mortal world.


	64. Death Flies on Soft Wings 4

Karenna was sobbing, ringing her hands with helpless uselessness as she knelt down next to them. Although she was frantically shaking Daine's shoulder, she was trying to stay as far away as possible from Numair, and as a result she was stretching out her arm in a spider-like manner. 

Daine opened her eyes first, and hissed between her teeth at the pain of a thousand cuts biting into her mortal form. The weeping girl half-shrieked and threw her arms around Daine, apologising in a flurry of tears when Daine winced away from her embrace.

"Oh, you're alive! I thought..." she blurted out, and then burst into tears again. She turned away and hid her face, obviously glad that the night-time darkness covered her tears. The orange glow from the many distant fires still lit the droplets as they fell, making them glow red like fresh blood. 

Daine thought to try to comfort the hysterical woman, but when she tried to move she found that Numair was lying heavily on top of her.

"Numair," she said softly, as if she were waking him up after a night's sleep. It was a ridiculous thought; they were both covered in drying blood, lying as they'd fallen with their clothes torn and their bodies bruised from fighting each other. She could tell even in the darkness that Numair was hurt, but she had no idea how badly, and she pushed away her guilt. She ran her hand gently through his hair, shocked by how cold he felt. "Numair, my love, it's time to wake up now."

He groaned and shifted slightly, and then woke up with a sudden gasp of pain. Eyes whirling wildly, he sat bolt upright and curled up, shuddering. Daine caught her breath and touched his shoulder tentatively.

"Are you alright? Is it... is it from losing the magic? Are you hurting?" She babbled, trying to get him to open his eyes. He breathed deeply for a few moments, rasping out the air almost as soon as he'd drawn it in, and when he finally looked at her his eyes were shadowed in the darkness.

"It's... yes. I'll be... fine." He whispered, still shuddering. "Just wasn't ready for... for coming back."

"I'm sorry," she said, thinking he meant that she'd dragged them back to their bodies too quickly. She still couldn't control the magic he'd given her, and even her head was reeling after carrying them back out of her core. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut again for a moment and trying to breathe evenly.

"Is it still the Hawk?" The voice was Karenna's, less tearful now and more cold. Daine looked at her, pursing her lips in something between confusion and disgust at the way the girl had phrased her question.

"No, he isn't." She snapped, not taking her hand away from Numair's shoulder. Karenna scooted a little further away across the hay, and her voice was accusing.

"It killed my father."

Daine blinked, and stared wide-eyed at Numair. Now she could see that most of the blood that coated his tunic couldn't be from him – and, now she looked properly, the tunic was familiar. She looked down breathlessly for a moment, torn by a sudden, fierce rush of vengeful happiness. 

"Orsille's dead?"

"Couldn't be deader." Numair croaked, nodding across the darkness towards a deformed, barely-human shape. It lay completely still, outlined by the orange glow of the distant fires. Numair looked up with eyes that were still ringed with pain, meeting Daine's gaze and sharing in her dark glee for a second before moving on to look at Karenna. 

His voice was completely cold when he told her, "I hope you're not expecting us to feel sorry about that. He was a monster."

" _You_ are a monster." She retorted. "He did some bad things, but he was still my father. I loved him."

"Then mourn him, and tell yourself whatever lies you like. Just keep them to yourself. It's none of our concern." Numair struggled to his feet and reached a hand down to Daine, helping her to stand up and ignoring his own pain. 

She was still staring with huge eyes at the bloody mess which had been Orsille. Her hands moved slightly. He remembered every nightmare she had fought against when lying in his arms, and gently caught one of her clenched hands to kiss her fingers. Her skin felt icy against his lips.

“It’s really over,” she whispered, and she covered her eyes with her other hand. 

Numair touched the girl’s hair tenderly. His voice was weak, but every word which he directed at Karenna was fierce, "If I could keep a single one of the Hawk's memories it would be killing that sadistic monster. I'd love to know how it felt. I'm just sorry I didn't do it myself."

"You did." She insisted, standing up to face him and stamping her foot like a child. "No wonder they locked you up! You really are insane. You really are the Hawk. I can't believe I was fooled by you! You have everyone fooled! Daine, you were unconscious, you don't know what he..."

"No, I _do_ know. But you're wrong, Karenna. It was the Hawk." Daine said softly. 

She let go of Numair's hand and walked up to the other woman, touching her tense arm soothingly. "Karenna, we need to go. This is still a battle ground. Whether they're Gallan or Tortallan, if we stay here the next people to find us will attack us. It'll be fair hard to explain to a soldier or a mage or even a slave what's happened here, and none of us are strong of us to defend ourselves. I know you're grieving, but now's not the time to be blaming us for this. We can explain later, if you want to listen, but right now we have to escape from this nightmare. And you... you need to come with us."

"No." She folded her arms obstinately. "I won't."

"There isn't time to argue." Daine found herself matching the girl's stubbornness. She grit her teeth and tried to resist putting her hands on her hips, knowing it would just provoke the idiot to keep bickering. Karenna tapped her fingers impatiently against her elbows and licked her lips.

"No." She repeated, "I'm staying here. My father’s dead. It's my castle now. My inheritance. If your Tortallan friends want it they can have it, but they need someone to negotiate with, and I'm the only one who's left. They're... they're waiting for me. I'll surrender gladly, but I won't have my father's dream overrun with madmen and... and mages." 

She glared at Numair for a moment, and then looked away. Her voice was terse. "Daine, I'm glad you're alive. And you're right, you should leave. Straight away. And you should never come back."

"Why would we want to?" Numair muttered, but it was quiet enough for Karenna to pretend she hadn't heard it. Daine felt a little sorry for the girl, and before she returned to Numair's side she squeezed Karenna's shoulder reassuringly, feeling the tension that defied the noble arrogance that the woman wore like armour.

"If you ever want to come to Tortall, I'd like us to be friends." She said quietly, feeling the woman shiver and smiling ruefully. "I understand if you want to forget you ever met us, but... you'll always be welcome."

Karenna smiled tearfully, the expression almost meeting her eyes, and then in a whirl of filthy, tattered silk skirts she turned and was gone. 

They could see her, walking regally through the courtyard as if half the keep wasn't ablaze, and the passages weren't filled with fighting men and women and vengeful maniacs. As she walked an escort of soldiers gathered around her, drifting out from where they'd been watching her. Some wore Gallan uniforms, and some Tortallan, but all of them guarded the woman with the same grim concentration.

"Perhaps she will do it," Daine said, almost to herself. "She's got enough courage and stubbornness to see it through."

"Why did you ask her to come with us?" Numair asked, sounding genuinely confused. "I'd be happy never to see her again."

Daine sighed and ran a hand through her hair, wincing at the blood clots tangled in the short strands. "She didn't ask to be a part of this any more than we did. And she doesn't have anyone to help her through it, like we do." 

She looked up at him and looped her arm around his waist, carefully taking some of his weight as they started walking away from the bailey. "I only survived because of you. When I wanted to give up, or I felt completely hopeless, I told myself that if I didn't keep fighting I would never see you again. I can't imagine living without you, you see. So I don't know how Karenna kept going. After betraying her father she didn’t have _anyone."_

"Daine," he started, and then shook his head when she looked up curiously. He smiled ruefully and stopped walking so that he could kiss her, holding her hands gently between his own to stop her from accidentally touching his stab wound. When he pulled away his voice was teasing, and he hoped that she couldn't hear the shadows in his words. Let her think it was a joke. "You have to learn how to live without me sooner or later, you know."

"Later, please." She returned, and when she kissed him Numair could feel the warm tears on her cheeks.

They made it out of the keep without being attacked. In the end they just walked brazenly across the opened drawbridge which crossed the border, seeing that the portcullis had been completely blasted from its frame by someone's magic. All the fighters were so intent on getting inside the walls, joining in the fray of battle in the burning buildings, that two ragged strangers going in the opposite direction were hardly noticed. Those who did notice them guessed that they were escaping prisoners or servants, and ignored them.

They walked for miles along the open road and then, following a route that Numair had been told by Alanna, along the first trail they found in the darkness. The sounds of battle faded gradually behind them, as if the people fighting were becoming quieter instead of drawing further away. The acrid stench of smoke dispersed when the wind changed. 

When the sun started to rise Daine caught her first proper sight of Tortall. They paused, exhausted, at the crest of a mountain trail to see the sun rising over the lush forest. Without speaking, they curled up together on the warm dust next to a trail marker, and looked over the land which promised them the freedom they had never had, heads rested against each other's as they watched the sun rise.

"We're heading about another ten miles to the South," Numair pointed away from the valley into the forest, where an outcrop of rocks made a natural marker. "There's a camp there, Alanna says, for reinforcements. Soldiers, healers…" he grinned, "…food…"

When he lowered his arm he became aware of the slow, ominous trickle of blood, and realised that it was starting to seep through his tunic in a horribly wide, dark patch. It must have soaked the bandage he'd hastily tied, and the shirt that covered it, and even several hours it clearly hadn't healed.

He had been oblivious to it, with adrenalin and anger fuelling his every move in the keep, but in this peaceful dawn he had a moment of awful clarity. It was still bleeding, and with a cold, sickening feeling Numair realised that it was the kind of wound that was never going to stop. No wonder the Hawk was keeping its distance. He had weakened himself deliberately. 

Without the strength it normally drew from the magic which ran through his veins, his body didn't even have the strength to stop a wound from bleeding.

Careful not to let Daine think something was wrong, he walked around to her other side and cheerfully took her arm, helping her to stand up when her swollen stomach made her move clumsily, and hoping she wouldn't think he was stopping her from seeing his side for a reason. "Welcome to Tortall, magelet!"

She rested her head against his shoulder briefly, looking around at the forest with tired eyes but only smiling when she finally met his gaze. "You're here. I like it."

"It has other virtues," he teased her, "Not many are as compelling, admittedly…" and he started telling her stories as they walked down the mountain, both of them trying not to slow the other one down as the summer day began in earnest, and the woods filled with the chatter of the morning chorus. 

Numair had to swallow heavily a few times, not sure if he could hear real birds or if the ringing was in his ears. He knew that he was stumbling too often, and that Daine was looking at him with concern, but there was still a chance that they could reach the camp, he thought, and he made them press on.

"Are you sure?" Daine asked, "We've been fighting all night and you're fair tired. We can stop and rest. It's safe enough here. If any mages or soldiers come I can scare them off…"

"No," he whispered, and then repeated himself more strongly. "No. The closer we get to the camp, the safer you are."

 _"We_ are," she corrected him, looking worried. He smiled, kissed her fleetingly, and nodded.

"Yes, you're right. We are."

They'd covered half of the remaining distance when Numair checked his tunic again, and had to stop himself from hissing through his teeth at the blood that soaked it. His eyes weren't focusing properly any more, but he could see enough to tell that the blood had completely soaked through the tunic, and must have been dripping onto the trail behind them for the last mile.

The next mile seemed to drift past while he swam in a feverish daze. It was only when he was falling that he realised his legs had finally given way under him.

He fell heavily to the ground. He couldn't help crying out and clutching in pain at his side when the shock reached the wound and started a new, heavier flow of blood. Daine yelped and grabbed at him, almost falling with him in her rush to help.

"What is it?" She gasped. Numair shook his head, but she had seen his hand twitching at his side, and the dark blood, and she pulled his tunic aside to see the gaping wound. The shirt under it looked like it had been dyed dark brown where the first flow of blood had dried, but it now shone bright red where fresh blood seeped through the fabric. Numair caught her hands, but she cursed at him and pressed her hands to the bleeding. They both knew it was hopeless. It was clear that there was nothing to be done.

"You idiot," she said tearfully, barely able to look at him as she choked back a sob. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt? We could have… we should have gone back and found a healer…"

"The hawk only left me because it knew it was hopeless." He said gently, not making an effort to hide his pain now that she knew. "This was best, sweetheart."

"Best!" She did look at him, then, and her glare was bright with tears. _"Best!_ Oh, you… you…"

"Idiot?" He finished for her, and smiled when she looked at him incredulously. Even with eyes reddened by tears, he thought, she was still breathtaking. He reached up a hand and ran it through her cropped hair, memorising the softness of it under his fingers.

"Numair, you're _dying,"_ she whispered, and he knew that she had to say the words to believe them, because as soon as she had spoken her skin whitened and her hands shook against his side. He could feel her panic and her racing heartbeat in the palms of her hands, but his own pain seemed to have gone. He wasn't even scared.

"I know. I _knew."_ He grinned with dark humour and tapped her nose with his fingertip. The dark feather that marked his hand faded as another rush of weakness flooded through his veins, and he smiled at the sight. "I told you, little one! It's best. Nothing can hurt you. Not now. Not even me."

"Don't…" Daine bit her lip, and looked down at her hands. They were red with blood, and even the grass that he was lying on was stained now with the persistent flow. She struggled to speak. "D…don't say things like that. You can't die. You _can't._ I won't let you!"

She took a deep breath and spread out her fingers over the wound, covering it as much as possible before she started meditating. It was hard to focus her breathing. As soon as she saw the glimmer of her gift she found herself being torn away from it, as if strong hands were hurling her backwards, and she clawed furiously at the waning black fire as she was slammed back into her own body.

"Don't do that!" She gasped. She opened her eyes to glare furiously at Numair, and then squeezed them tightly shut to try again. "I can heal you! I did it before!"

"No." His voice held a vein of iron, and he reached out to hold her hands away from him. His fingers felt icy cold around her wrists, and she shuddered and looked back at him as he told her, "I won't let you. It would take too much magic, sweet, more than you can give… and you know you can't control it."

"I don't care." She was crying now, unable to wipe away the tears that streamed down her cheeks while he held her wrists. "I won't let you die."

"I won't let you kill our child." He matched her intensity, and knew the dart had struck home when she stopped trying to free her hands and her eyes met his in horrified, silent realisation of what she might have done. He let her go, knowing he couldn't hold on to her for much longer anyway, and said in a quieter voice, "Don't argue with me, Daine. Please. Not now. I chose this."

She blinked away a tear and reached out a shaking hand to him, trying to warm his frozen fingers in her warm hands. 

"What can I do?" She whispered, looking up frantically for the outcrop as if she could possibly run and get help in time. Numair knew it was impossible, and shook his head when she opened her mouth to suggest it. He reached up and stroked her face, gently brushing the traces of tears from her cheeks.

"Stay with me," he said, and she hesitated, clearly still wanting to try and fetch help. He didn't say the word please, but his eyes pleaded with her. She nodded silently and turned her head to kiss his palm, holding his hand between her own and trying not to tremble when she felt how sluggish his heartbeat was.

"Of course, my love."

She stayed kneeling beside him for a few minutes, letting him memorise her face and nestling her cheek against his palm until his hand shook and he lowered it slowly, too weak to raise it again. Then she moved so she could draw his head into her lap, gently brushing a few blades of grass from his hair and shoulders and running her fingertips through his hair.

He smiled and his eyes shut sleepily for a moment. "Does it make me look sophisticated, magelet?"

"Just less like a trapper." She kissed his forehead. "You always look fair wondrous to me, but… not so much with grass in your hair."

He laughed and shifted in her lap, and then winced as the movement jarred his wound. Daine caught his hand before he could touch the fresh flow of blood, and interlinked his dusky fingers in her own, dully realising that the blood that covered her own hands was already drying. She made sure he couldn't see the blood, and stopped his other hand before he could feel his life bleeding out onto the forest floor. 

Numair paled, and for the first time a glimmer of fear shone in his eyes.

"Don't think about it," she murmured, kissing his hand. "You're fine. You're safe. You're here, and I'm here with you, and… and we're free. And you did that."

"And you, and Alanna," he replied, his quiet voice wry. "Better give her some credit, too."

"When I see her."

"Tell her…" he paused for a moment. Thinking seemed a little more difficult now, as if the world had slowed down. Daine squeezed his hand and some part of his mind swam back into focus. "Tell her I'm grateful, and I'm… I'm sorry. She'll have a thousand ideas of things I should apologise for, I'm sure but… but this time she'll know what you mean, I think."

"I will." Daine stroked his face with her free hand, her fingertips warm against his skin. He felt very cold. "Is there anything else I should say?"

"To the baby," he hesitated, and felt her unbidden movement when she couldn't hold back a sob. For some reason the sound made him want to smile, to reassure her. "Oh sweetling, please don't cry."

"I'm not," she sounded choked, but her voice steadied. "To the baby?"

"To _our_ baby," he smiled, "That I love them… I loved them… even before they were born. I know the baby will be… be beautiful, and clever, and brave, because their mother is… is all of those things. Tell them… tell them that. And… try not to blush when you… describe yourself as beautiful, Daine. I'll be… be watching…!"

"Dolt." He could hear the tearful smile in her voice, and he clung to it when the darkness tried to swallow him up. 

_I'm not ready yet,_ he prayed, thinking the dark god might answer his prayer. He felt that the gods owed him at least one prayer, just this once.

The darkness retreated a little, and he realised the colours on his eyelids were from the sun shining through the leaves. He could still feel Daine's fingers on his cheek, and the soft rise and fall of her body as she breathed, but the rest of the world seemed so distant now.

"Open your eyes," she said, her voice almost inaudible. He did, seeing only the distant blur of green and blue as he saw the sky for the last time. Then he saw Daine, and focused on the love in her grey eyes. She took his hand to rest his palm gently on the curve of her stomach, and then kissed him with infinite gentleness.

"We love you so much." She whispered, and he saw the sun catch the tear that fell from her cheek before his eyes finally closed.


	65. Mercy without Reprieve 1

It was a month later. 

The sun was just beginning to cool enough to make the nights bearable. Daine still slept without blankets. She was so used to years in her frozen cell in the stone mountains that the sun-warmed stones of Corus felt like an oven to her. The mornings were the coolest time of the day but she still woke up every morning feeling miserably hot, feeling her shift tangling around her distended stomach and sweat pooling in the aching small of her back.

Today was no better, and she dragged herself from her dreams with a groan when she heard the soft patter of rain on the shutters. It would cool down the morning air, but by evening the same rain would evaporate into a sticky haze which would make drifting off to sleep impossible. Daine kept her eyes shut for a moment, as she had every morning since she'd arrived in the city, and repeated the same prayer.

_Let today be the day. Oh please, goddess, let today be the day._

Then, as she did every morning, she opened her eyes and raised herself up awkwardly on her elbow so she could study Numair's face. The dragging weight of disappointment was as familiar as her prayer, and she fell back against the pillow with a frustrated half-sob. He hadn't moved. His eyes were still shut, and his face was as still and deathlike as it had been on that horrible day a month ago when they had escaped.

(Was she even surprised anymore? Hope came as easily as nightmares in the night. If Numair was going to wake up it would be in the morning, after she made her wish, if all was as it should be. Let that be the end of her story (please goddess, and while we’re at it, thank you for forcing me to believe that the impossible can happen, you pitiless bitch). 

After the first stab of frustrated hope her practical self would emerge and scold her. She might have answered it, if she cared enough about her reasons… which she didn’t, not really. Why was she surprised every morning? Well, because there was nothing practical about being so helplessly in love, and so the impractical hope felt fair comfortable to her, thank you very much.)

Sighing, she kissed Numair's icy cheek and struggled out of bed. 

The first thing Daine always did next was open the shutters, letting the light pour into the room and resting her forearms on the warm wooden window frame. She stood there for a while, barely noticing her aching back as she drank in the sight of the distant Royal Forest. It shone like a jewel in the dawn light with no bars covering its lush green beauty. She had never been there, of course, but the point was that someday she _might._ That made all the difference. 

She turned away and now she moved briskly, yanking her dress on over her head and irritably dragging a comb through her unruly hair. It was too short to tie up, too long to pin, and she didn't dare wear a scarf over it in this heat. Stray tendrils made her neck itch. The baby moved fretfully and she rested a hand on her stomach.

"You're awake too, huh?" She asked softly, feeling the odd dimples as fingers and toes met the skin under her palm. 

Recently it had been all elbows – uncomfortable, but not the heavy kind of discomfort that a few more days would bring. Daine wondered at the outline of a clumsy foot and stroked at it in what she hoped was a soothing way. "It's too hot to come out today, little one. I'd have a nap, if I were you."

Perhaps the baby understood, because by the time she'd washed her face and poured out two glasses of creamy milk from a sweating clay pitcher it was moving more gently. Daine drained the first glass and then took the second to Numair, cradling his head in the crook of her arm so she could slowly tip the cool liquid into his mouth. While she held him she spoke softly to him. When the glass was empty she tenderly kissed him and then lay him back down against the pillow. For a few minutes she stayed, silently watching him, smoothing his hair into neatness with her fingertips.

"I love you," she said, just as she did every morning.

If this was like every day of the past month, the girl would have spent the rest of the morning in the palace library, trawling through magic books, or else talking earnestly to mages or priests. Today she decided on the library, for the simple reason that the dark catacombs were deep enough under the castle that they might actually be cool. That was a definite improvement over the bright, hot incense-filled chambers of the priests, even if the library was filled with greasy smoke from covered lamps. She was just collecting the books that she had borrowed the night before to return to the surly librarians when someone knocked on the door.

This did _not_ happen every morning. Frowning, Daine moved towards the door. 

She still thought of moving as walking, but Alanna had rather snidely described her awkward pregnant gait as waddling when they'd eaten dinner together a few days ago, and although the word was meant as a joke the girl couldn't help thinking it was sadly true. However they described it, Daine thought, it was certainly annoying to have to move at such a snail's pace!

She pressed her hand to her stomach. "Perhaps you _should_ say hello today," she muttered to the baby.

She opened the door. It was someone she didn't recognise: a young sandy-haired boy. He was wearing the bright clothes Hazelle had described as the pages uniform. After so many years living around people dressed in brown rags, Daine couldn't see the bicoloured tunics without thinking of the tumblers Numair had shown her in the fair. Still, the page boys seemed serious and good natured enough, despite their clownish attire. This one held a sealed parchment out to her, but when Daine stared at him blankly he bowed.

"Mistress Sarrasri," he said formally, "The king summons you."

"The... king?" She echoed, her eyebrows drawing together. He nodded, pointing at the parchment.

"That's his majesty’s official seal there, see? In the wax? Proves it's really his orders." He craned his head past her when she frowned down at the seal. His eyes went wide at the sight of the still silhouette lying on the bed. "Say, ma'am, is that Master Salmali..."

"Don't stare. It's rude." She said shortly, and shut the door behind her. Irritation made her a little curt. "I don't know where the king lives. You'll have to show me. I only know the kitchens, the libraries and some of this guest wing."

The page gaped at her. He was clearly disappointed that he'd missed his chance to see the unconscious mage, and some of his disappointment came out as scorn. "Well, he lives in the royal suite, obviously!"

"Obviously." She smiled humourlessly and then leaned a little closer to his freckled face. "Show me where that is, or I swear by Mithros I'll volunteer you to be my midwife's assistant."

He blanched and blushed simultaneously, and took off so quickly that Daine couldn't keep up. He returned after a moment, a little calmer, and offered her his arm so he could escort her more respectfully through the palace. She accepted, hiding a smile.

At their slow pace it took them more than ten minutes to make their way through the vast castle. Daine was a little relieved when they moved away from the guest wing into the depths of the ancient building, where the stone was a lot cooler and she could think more clearly. Still, by the time they reached the ornate doors of the royal suite she was nervous. She hadn't had a chance to read the letter the king had sent, and when the page left her she cracked open the seal and ran her eye over the terrible handwriting. 

He didn't explain what he wanted, he simply requested her presence. Requested! It said _please,_ of all things. 

Daine drew a deep breath, and nodded at one of the pages outside the door to announce her. He smiled reassuringly at her and tapped on the wooden door in a cheerfully informal rhythm. The doors swung open, revealing a surprisingly normal-looking room with a hideous but comfortable looking set of furniture scattered around a central desk. Daine blinked and walked through the door.

"Ah, Mistress Sarrasri!" The voice was genuinely cheerful, and a dark haired man grabbed her hands in a delighted greeting. "I'm so pleased to finally meet you! Please, do sit down. You look about ready to drop! It is a long walk through the palace, isn't it? And Thayet told me when she was carrying our Roald that she was going to make me strap sand bags to my stomach and walk around for a week with them, just to share the suffering, so I got the pages to bring you some extra cushions. And some juice." 

He led her to one of the chairs and handed her a goblet, pressing it into her hand when she stared at him in frozen bewilderment.

"I don't understand," she managed, "I was summoned here! Where's the king?"

"Oh, I'm the king." He waved a hand dismissively, and she gaped at him.

"You're joking!"

"I'd show you my crown as proof, but one of my children dropped it into the pigsty last week and my jeweller's still hammering the dents out." He smiled openly at her expression and gestured to the goblet. 

"Please."

She took a sip. Someone had put ice in it from the icehouse, and it was deliciously cool. "Oh! Thank you." She said awkwardly, and he ducked his head in acknowledgement. Belatedly, Daine realised that she was probably supposed to bow, or something. But the king was already sitting down behind his desk, and the girl knew from experience that standing up was a difficult task, so she stayed put.

"How do you like your rooms?" He asked, folding his hands under his chin and staring at her in a curious, bright-eyed way. She blinked.

"Very nice," she croaked, and then smiled with wry humour. "Bigger than I'm used to."

"Yes, I know." He said the words lightly, almost blasé as he waved a hand. Daine realised in a flash that he knew everything about her. Well, of course he did. He had let her live under his roof, after all, and he and Alanna were close. Alanna must have told him everything – about the prison, and the battle, and perhaps even the fragments of the dusty journey back through Tortall that Daine could barely remember. 

She thought back to the trusting way Alanna had spoken about Jon and relaxed a little. Still, the fact that he knew her story made her feel uneasy, as if the officials had followed her back here to this safe place.

She knew they hadn't, of course. Like Hazelle and Alanna had guessed, the king of Galla had feigned ignorance of Orsille's entire plan, and had declared that all the men who had played a part in forming the army of mages were traitors. The ones who weren't already dead were being tortured. None of them would have made it across the border to Tortall. Still, Daine hoped that she had left her own twisted history burning in the keeps, and so it was chilling to have it follow her. 

The kings next question didn’t help either, because he leaned forward and asked, “And your health? Are you recovered from... from your wounds?” 

"Is that why you summoned me?" She asked, "To ask about _that?"_

"No," he looked almost shocked. "Why would I do that? I know enough. I wouldn't make you remember something as terrible as that just to get your side of the story. It would be, well... cruel. No, it's not that at all. I truthfully want to know if you were well, and if you like your rooms. They're yours as long as you want them, you know. And there's an annuity – I have the paperwork somewhere. I did ask my Lord Chamberlain to tell you, but I wanted to thank you personally as well. We – all of us, and my country – owe you a great debt, Mistress Sarrasri."

"You don't owe me anything. I didn't do it for your country." She said, and put down the goblet. Staring at her hands, she calmly told the king of Tortall, "I did it for myself. And I did it for him. And now I'm here for him, too, not because I wanted rooms or money but because I thought they might be able to help him. You owe me nothing, and I have work to do. Did you summon me here to make small talk?" She struggled to stand up. "I have better things to do, your majesty."

The king hesitated, and then he said something that Daine wouldn't have expected in a thousand years. "So I take that to mean that Numair still hasn't woken up?"

She blinked, and realised that the surprise was obvious on her face when he laughed shortly. 

"I'm sorry, Mistress Sarrasri, that was rather an abrupt question! Please sit back down. I promise not to make any more small talk, since it offends you so much. The fact is, I’m anxious to know how Numair's doing, and between you, Alanna and Hazelle he seems to have some very loyal guards. Even my nosiest gossips can't get a look at him. I hear he was stabbed?"

"Yes," she said stupidly, and then blushed at the thought of misleading a king. She was going to have to lie. She was sure that was technically treason, even though she doubted he'd care. This particular king looked like he would wade into a tavern brawl, lose, and then cheerfully buy a round for the winners.

But she would have to lie, because even though she had been there when it had happened even she could barely believe how Numair's life had been saved. She bit her lip at the memory and blurted out a rather tongue-tied answer to his question, although her first sentence was as vague as she could make it.

"He was stabbed by Ors... by an official and he nearly bled out, but... but he got healed. Then he wouldn't wake up. And Alanna said to bring him to a main called Baird here in Corus, and I thought he would wake up in the journey, maybe, but he didn't. And the man..."

"Duke Baird." The king corrected her gently, and Daine blushed. He waved a hand apologetically, motioning for her to continue. She pulled a face as she repeated the name.

"Yes, Duke Baird, well, he looked at Numair and said he didn't know what was wrong, but it wasn't something that could be healed, and that I should just wait. Numair's fine – healthy, I mean. He just won't wake up. Sometimes Alanna tries yelling at him or... or waving bacon around." She smiled slightly at the ridiculous memory of what the knight had genuinely considered to be a good idea at the time, and then shrugged. "We tried a lot of things, but he still won't wake up."

"Who healed him in Galla?" Jon asked, jumping on the one point Daine had hoped he wouldn't ask. She flinched and looked away, and he shook his head. "No, I'm sorry but I have to insist on an answer to that one. It's clearly related to the problem."

"And you're the person to solve it, your majesty?" She retorted. To her surprise he reddened a little, and shrugged.

"Perhaps not as a king, Mistress Sarrasri. You're quite right. I'm asking as a healer, and as one of Numair's friends. If I can do anything to help then of course I want to try."

She looked away quickly, surprised at his honest answer, and then looked back. He was fiddling with the edge of his tunic, she noticed, and the paper on the table in front of him was covered in scores of notes. There were rows and rows of magical symbols and incantations that had been irritably scratched out and then carefully rewritten over and over again. Even upside down Daine recognised some the marks that had been on her chain, and some of the words Numair had taught her those in their magic lessons. She knew others that were used as incantations for protection, and for healing, from her time in the healer’s wing when they first arrived in Corus.

A spell. He was inventing a spell. 

"You've been speaking to the others." She worked out, and covered a smile. For some reason, the thought that the actual king of Tortall was trying to help made her want to laugh incredulously.  
He glanced at the notes and smiled wryly, pushing them to one side.

"Alanna and Hazelle both work for me, you know. They reported to me while you were in the healers’ wing. They both think you're hiding something." He said frankly, leaning forwards. "But they also both told me that you're probably doing it for a good reason, and they refused to pry. Alanna kindly pointed out that I'm a nosy busybody with nothing better to do than poke my nose into other peoples' business, and so I volunteered as the best person to ask you."

 _"Ask_ me?" She echoed, hearing the cynicism in her own tone. He nodded, his expression utterly without guile.

"Yes. If you have a good reason for not telling us what happened then of course you should keep your secret. We trust you." He took in her expression, her defiantly folded arms, and he spread his hands in a gesture of openness. "I really do want to help. I miss my friend. I'm sure you do, too."

"Yes, I do." she whispered, and then took a deep breath. "Look, I don't think you'll believe a word of this."

"Mistress Sarrasri, my champion has had adventures that are so bizarre they sing songs about them in taverns. Plus, I’m really quite unbelievably gullible. I swear I'll believe anything you tell me."

She hid a smile behind her hand. "Please call me Daine, your majesty."

"Daine." He echoed it seriously, and then took her hand and kissed it with a formal, over-pompous and exaggerated mannerism that made her giggle. "I'm Jon."

"Jon." She bowed her head. It was hard for her to find the words, and she swallowed a few times before she started, but as soon as Daine opened her mouth to speak the memories poured back so clearly it was as if she were really there.

"This is what happened.

We were in the woods, and he just fell down, and that was how I found out he was hurt. Badly hurt, I mean. We were both fair battered from all the fighting, but not dangerously bad, you know? And at first I thought it was just that he was tired from using his magic until I saw the blood, and then... then I knew he was dying. And he was dying, your maj... Jon. He said goodbye, and his eyes shut, and he stopped breathing, and I just wanted to die with him. 

There was nothing I could do. I... I tried to heal him through our link, but he stopped me because of the baby, and there was no time to try anything else.

He died. I swear that it’s true. I felt it when he died, a real pain when something snapped in my heart and I... I couldn’t... 

I don't know how long I... we were there for. I didn't know anything, or hear anything, or see anything for what seemed like years. But then there was a light. Like the light from my arrows, so bright that I had to shut my eyes.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I don’t know how long I’d been there for but I remember all this like a painting, it was so bright in my mind but I didn’t dare look up, and every sound was clear as a bell. A voice told me, "Everything's going to be fine, daughter."

Then there was another voice, one which sounded almost angry, a man's voice it was. It said, "Fine? You've let Weiryn's pleas go to your head, sister! How dare this mortal assume to choose?"  
"He had no choice. We gave him no other path." That was the first voice, your majesty. 

So regal, it was, but it was also comforting, like it really cared. But it felt like thunder crackling through the ground as well, and I was too frightened to say anything. Then the thunder faded and her voice changed. It was almost... almost mortal, I suppose. The hand left my shoulder, as if she was turning away, and she spoke to a third person who I hadn't heard at all. 

She said, "He did it out of love, my dear Pigeon. Don't lead him home just yet, I beseech you. Make it my Midsummer gift."

" _Weiryn's_ Midsummer gift."

If anything, I swear the angry voice was sulking. The woman sighed, and all the thunder came back into her voice, and it was like the air was getting heavier.

"We have to agree. Even at the solstice, brother, we have to agree."

There was a pause, and I didn't dare look up, your majesty. But I think they must have agreed, all three of them, because the hand rested on my head for a moment, and I felt a peace, like all my sadness had just gone. And the woman's voice was soft, but there was something deep in it, like the sound of wind in the mountains, you know?

She said, "We won't accept this death, daughter." 

Then she touched Numair's forehead, and I saw her hand. Her skin was so white, so pure, and I had to close my eyes because it was too beautiful. There was a light, so bright that I could see it even through closed eyes.

I didn't know what all their words meant, or what they were arguing about. I still don't, Jon. Not at all. After a while I couldn't even think to ask them. 

It was just light, and the voices, and a feeling like... when you're almost awake, but mostly asleep, and everything is warm and gentle and quiet around you. I can't describe it. I don't have many words for things like this. But I knew they wouldn't hurt me, even though they sounded angry."

Daine looked up, blinking as if the same light was still blinding her eyes, and laughed harshly at the expression on the man’s face. 

"Well, that's my story. Do you believe me?"

The king unfolded his arms and pursed his lips, looking more thoughtful than incredulous. When he spoke the words were very carefully chosen. "Daine, you said it was like your arrows. Alanna said you got your bow and arrows from a god."

"Yes, but that was a man. This was a woman, and the angry man wasn't the same person at all. I could look right at the man in the market, but I couldn't see them. I didn't dare look up. I just held Numair close in my arms, and suddenly he wasn't cold any more, he was warm, and breathing. I couldn't believe it. Why would they...?"

"Best not to ask." Jon said gently, pushing her goblet back towards her. "If they want you to know the answers then they'll tell you in their own time."

She nodded and took a sip in mute obedience. The sharp juice burned her throat and she coughed to clear it. 

"When I could see again they were gone. Numair’s wound had all healed up, but he wouldn't wake up. I sent the birds to fetch help as best they could, and after a few hours some soldiers found us and carried him back to the camp. Alanna came and looked at him after a few days of talking to Kare... to the Lady Orsille about who owns the keep. When she realised he wasn't just asleep she swore at him a lot and tried lots of magic, but that didn't work either. So she said that I should come back here with her and ask other people."

"Yes, I know that part. I also know that Alanna told me that the scar from the stab wound was in the wrong place to kill him." Jon said bluntly. "He'd bound it properly, and you said it wasn't bleeding badly until you both reached Tortall.” 

“Yes.” Daine’s voice was a little flat. “I didn’t tell her anything else.”

“Why?” Jon looked surprised, even a little confused. "I was sure you would have confided in her. Don't you trust her?"

The girl met his eyes for a moment, and there was a fierce light in them which belied the softness of her face. 

“I’m sure you know the answer to that, your majesty, since you know everything else that happened in Galla. You know that she left me locked up with a sadist rather than lose a mile of ground. You know that she stopped Numair from trying to help me.” 

“I do know that. I also know that I have a thousand other refugees from that valley who wouldn’t have escaped without her help,” Jon said, and then he leaned forward. Daine flinched away and then bit her lip guiltily, seeing no threat in the man’s earnest expression. He shook his head and kept speaking, “I also know that since you returned to Corus every report I’ve received from Alanna has asked after both of you. She does care, Daine. She just has to see the bigger picture. That’s her job.” 

“It wasn’t our job, though.” Daine muttered obstinately, “I don’t see why we had to get caught up in it. I don't see why we had to suffer for it. It shouldn't have been her choice to make.” 

Jon sighed and looked like he was about to say something else, then he made a noncommittal gesture. “We won’t agree on this, and I wouldn’t argue with Alanna even by proxy, so let’s return to our more pressing problem.”

“Why won’t Numair wake up?” Daine finished for him in a low voice. Jon nodded. 

“Perhaps we're looking in the wrong place for answers. We can't argue that his healers were first rate!" he winked at her, and then sobered, "So the problem must be in the original injury. What, exactly, killed him?"

"He wanted to die." Daine answered flatly, and nodded as she heard his intake of breath. "I know what it sounds like, but it's the truth. He chose it. He said the hawk would only die if... if he was powerless. I thought he just meant his magic, but he meant everything."

"His magic?"

She nodded, speaking more quickly now that she was caught up in her story. 

"Yes, he gave me his magic before he... before we left the fort. He said it would protect me, and that he wouldn't take it back, or else the hawk would come back. It was still there then, you could tell because it marked his hands with a feather thing." 

She traced a shape on her left hand, and then her eyes brightened. "But it died when he did, and the feather hasn't come back. Do you think if I found a way to give his magic back...?"

"How are you not burning up?" Jon looked at her narrowly. He gasped in a breath as a thought occurred to him, and then he laughed helplessly. He held up a hand to stop her asking what was so funny, and when he caught his breath he said, "That's it! You have two people's magic inside of you, but of course, you _are_ two people!"

She bit her lip and rested her hand on her stomach defensively. "Do you mean that... my baby has it?"

He grinned and knelt down next to her, and then stopped himself with a slightly embarrassed laugh when she flinched away. "I'm sorry, may I?"

Daine nodded, feeling foolish for the surge of fear that still blazed in her whenever someone got too close to her. The king pressed his hand to her stomach, smiling when the baby kicked at him. "Well, nice to meet you too, little warrior!" 

He shut his eyes and breathed in even intervals as his gift washed through the woman's stomach. For a moment he frowned, and then he abruptly cried out and dragged his hand away, pressing it over his eyes in pain. 

Daine gasped and dragged herself to her feet, ready to call for help, but before she could draw another breath the king stood up, shaking his head dizzily at her. Waving weakly for her to sit back down, Jonathan smiled.

"Baird's a good healer, but he's not a politician." He said smugly, rubbing his eyes. "He was looking in the wrong place for his answers, that's all."

"Don't be so pleased with yourself." She said tartly, unable to stop smiling back. Then her hopeful expression faded. "How do we... fix this? I'm not a good mage. Not at all. I can't control my own magic, let alone Numair's. It's too strong. I don't know how to give it back."

"Well, at the moment it's all shielding the baby, protecting it. There are so many different protection spells on you that they nearly blinded me. Congratulations, you have the safest child in the whole of Tortall, if not the world! But they're all linked to you, too. So..." he looked a little uneasy, as if he was awkward asking the question. "When is the baby due, exactly?"

"Exactly?" She blushed and laughed. She looked just as embarrassed as him as she thought back to some rather nice memories. "I'm not sure. There were... quite a few times when we could have made it. But very soon..." She looked down at the dress covering her distended stomach with a wry smile. "...obviously."

"Right." His tone was quite professional, even if his pale skin was flaring an embarrassed red. "So these spells are linked to both you and the baby. Being the unbearable know-it-all that he is, Numair probably planned for how to protect you both once it's born. Before they flared at me I saw that the spells are made to be adaptable... I mean, they'll reshape themselves. But we need to get them away from you to give the magic back. They're pretty much unbreakable now, and they probably will be when the baby's born, too, but..."

"But they'll be weak when I'm in labour." She guessed, and sighed as she worked out the rest of his plan. "Why can't anything ever be simple when Numair's involved? If this works, remind me to slap him when he wakes up."


	66. Mercy without Reprieve 2

"You don't have long to wait." Hazelle meant her words to sound comforting. They didn’t. If anything, the soft tone made them more ominous. 

Daine lay beside her on the chaise lounge, looking shamefully dishevelled - like a crumpled bundle of baggy clothing against the luxurious velvet. Her head was cradled in the woman's lap and her eyes were sliding shut sleepily in the muggy evening heat.

The girl had recounted the entire conversation with the king over their evening meal, and the old lady listened with a mind half full of relief, half full of worry. She ordered the girl to rest after the servants had faded away, seeing how excitement had made Daine's eyes overbright and her hands tremble. The heat hadn't made the last few weeks of her confinement easy, and the last thing Hazelle wanted was for Daine to make herself sicker with plans.

At least, Hazelle thought, when Daine had been looking for an answer in the library she'd been reasonably quiet. In her furious mission to help her friend, the girl seemed to ignore the fact that she was expecting a child, beyond cursing fluently at how slow and tired she felt. 

Not human. That was what they said. Not human. 

At first, Hazelle had forced Daine to join her in the evenings with the same kind of proud obstinacy that the girl drew from to refuse. The old woman felt it reflected very badly on her that the girl had become so stubborn, so unruly and so emotionless. That was in the first few days, when Daine nearly screamed at her for taking her away from Numair’s side. 

Now Daine had softened a little. Hazelle found that she was becoming increasingly maternal towards the girl. What had begun as an obligation became easy, because in reminding Daine to eat and making sure that she rested, Hazelle pretended a fragile kind of love was being acted out between them. 

After another week, after Daine kissed her on the cheek before wishing her a sleepy goodnight, the old woman was sure. Daine wasn’t emotionless; she was hurting so badly that she didn’t dare let another person near her. Even now when she should feel safe it was like there was a glass wall in between her and the other people who lived in the castle – a brittle shield of mistrust and bitterness which raised as many eyebrows as the Gallan girl’s near-silence. 

The next day Hazelle bought Daine a beautiful new haircomb, and dryly told her that it was for the sole purpose of taming those dreadful curls. Daine pulled a sour face at her and then smiled for the first time in weeks. 

Hazelle had heard people whispering that when Daine had first reached the safety of a camp in Galla the girl had fainted, weak from hunger and weariness and blood loss. A soldier healer rushed to her side to fix the most dangerous damage. The girl regained consciousness and found a stranger’s hands on her. She shrieked and shoved the healer away. 

Then she scrambled into the corner and raised her shaking hands defensively. When the man raised his own hands to reassure her, Daine stared at him with such violent horror that the healer, a veteran of several battlefields, was aghast. He mopped his brow and ducked his head respectfully to her, then hurried from the tent. 

By the time she reached Corus the girl had grown a little more used to strangers. Still, Daine flinched away whenever anyone tried to touch her, and outright glared at anyone who approached Numair. Hazelle heard from her network of servants that the girl had slept beside Numair's bed, never letting go of his hand, refusing to move to a bed of her own or to be healed herself.

Such devotion, the gossips said, hinged on obsession. What was it, love? No, it couldn’t be. What else, then? Guilt? Far more likely. Now... what had that girl have done to feel such remorse? 

They began avoiding her. 

Eventually one of the more stubborn healing women confronted the girl. Instead of trying to reach for the strange Gallan’s wrist like all the other healers, the woman scowled and folded her arms, glowering until Daine impatiently asked her what she wanted. 

“It’s my job to heal you.” The woman scowled a second time, “But I know you won’t let me, and I don’t want to go and scrub bedpans, thank you very much! So if anyone asks I’m trying to convince you.” 

“No-one will ask me about you. They know I don’t care. I want to be left alone.” Daine matched the healer’s furious impatience and the woman sneered at her. 

“You _want?_ I _want_ a rich healer to carry me off on a white horse.” 

“Then go and find one.” 

“I have to heal you first.” The woman shrugged and started sucking at her teeth obnoxiously. “It’s your choice, of course. I guess you want to remember what that warlord did to you every time you look in a puddle and see your pretty scars, right?” 

Daine glared at her. “Since everyone seems to know what I am already, I don’t think just healing my wounds will change how anyone sees me.”

“Oh, is that it?” The healer raised an eyebrow. “So are you wanting to face their pity or their disgust, Miss? I’ll be sure to spread the word.” 

Daine gaped at her for a second and then something seemed to splinter in her eyes. She held her hand out in impetuous disgust. “Fine!“ 

Even after that small surrender, it had still taken a few days before anyone could convince the girl to rest properly. She looked at anyone who approached her with suspicious eyes, refusing to move. In the end, Hazelle had been summoned from her home near Olau and had been asked to come and reason with the girl.

She tutted at her first sight of Daine, drawing up a chair so she could sit down in a dignified manner. 

"Veralidaine, you are making a scene." She said, by way of a greeting. Daine had looked up, and her eyes had widened.

"Hazelle!" She looked back at Numair as if she were sharing a joke, and her shoulders moved in a half-laugh. "You've never called me by my real name before."

"Your memory is still flawless, but I see you've forgotten everything else I taught you." The woman continued drily. She gestured at the girl's travel-marked clothes and unkempt hair. "Really, this display of emotion is most unbecoming. Are you aware that you're in the royal castle of Tortall?"

Daine glared at her. "I don't want to act like things are different from what they are. I want him to wake up."

"And scaring off all the healers and making yourself ill are going to help him?" Hazelle raised an eyebrow. 

Daine flinched, and then swallowed and said,  
"I… I can't hear him. In my mind. We used to be able to feel each other’s hearts beating but now he's not even dreaming, Hazelle. It terrifies me. But I need to be here, just in case he… if he needs me…"

"Did the healers say that?" The old woman hated the coldness in her own voice, when all she wanted to do was comfort the girl. Even so, it had an effect. Daine blinked and answered honestly.

"Well, no, they said… he's just sleeping. He's not sick, just asleep, they said."

"So then you simply need to wait for him to wake up. It's easy, and you don’t need to be here for that." Hazelle had smiled then, reaching forwards to take the girl's free hand. Daine had blinked at her numbly, and then her fingers had tightened around the woman's. Her voice was thin, desperate when she said.

"Hazelle, do you think he will wake up? Really?"

"Yes," the woman lied, not looking at the deathlike stillness on the unconscious man's face. "And he'll want to wake up to see a pretty young lady, not a bedraggled little beggar scaring off all the people who want to help him."

Daine flushed darkly at that and muttered, "I don't… can't… trust them. It's difficult."

"Well, do you trust me?" Hazelle was genuinely touched by the quickness with which Daine nodded, and she smiled. "Veralidaine, my darling, I trust these people. You don't need to protect Numair from them, honestly. The king has set aside some rooms for you, and for Numair, too. You're both safe here, I promise you! Tomorrow we can move you both out of the healers’ wing and you can live in your own home. But tonight I want you to come home with me and be thoroughly spoiled. Bennette will be shocked at the state of you!"

Daine had looked down, thinking, and the old lady had let her take her time. Slowly, in hesitant steps, the girl had relaxed her hold on Numair's hand and, finally, let go.

Every night since, Daine had spent her evenings with the old lady, and every night she had asked when Hazelle thought Numair would wake up. Every night there was a little less hope in her grey eyes. A month after she had coaxed the girl away from the healers, the old woman stroked the half-formed curls away from Daine's eyes tenderly and repeated, "It has to be soon."

"We'll only get one chance at it." Daine murmured, not opening her eyes. Predictably, she was only thinking of the spell. "It has to be done right. Jon said that between him and Alanna they can probably manage it, but it's still going to be risky. There are a lot of spells to break."

"If it doesn't work, we can think of something else."

"No. It has to work." The stubbornness in the girl's voice cut off any argument, and for once Hazelle didn't tell her off for snapping in such an unladylike manner. She was still one of the few people Daine allowed near the unconscious Numair, and she had seen the way that the man was fading as clearly as the girl did. The longer Numair stayed asleep, the weaker he was becoming.

Hazelle frowned and smoothed the arch of Daine's eyebrow absentmindedly. 

"I got a letter today," she ventured, changing the subject. One of the girl's eyes opened, and she looked up enquiringly.

"Oh?"

" _Oh,_ indeed.” She tweaked the girl’s nose reprovingly. “It was from the Lady Orsille."

"Karenna?" Daine pulled a face when Hazelle opened her mouth to correct her. "Oh, don't give me that look. You know I hate hearing his name. What did Karenna say?"

"I don't know." Hazelle didn't smile, but her eyes were curious. "It was sent to me but the letter is addressed to you. There was a note with it saying that I should decide whether or not to give it to you."

"I would like to see it." Daine admitted, sitting up with an effort. "I'd like to know if she's well."

"You already know that." Hazelle smiled and shook her head as she went to fetch the letter. "I've been telling you every single thing my spies have told me, you know. When I go home you'll suddenly feel like you're wearing blinkers, you'll know so little!"

Daine smiled and sipped some water. "I wish you didn't have to go," she said quietly, watching the old woman walking stiffly across the room. "I can't imagine wanting to go back there."

"I think we can definitely agree that you saw Galla at its worst! But there's a lot there worth cherishing, my dear, even if you never had a chance to see it." Hazelle unlocked a box full of papers and found a neatly folded one with a cry of triumph. She handed it to Daine, who blinked at the ornate writing with an incredulous look.

"Dear gods, she's even scented it." She muttered, drawing her belt knife to break open the seal. "Who _does_ that?"

"Well, Karenna does, apparently!" Hazelle sat back down again. "She does it on her official correspondence, too. Our dear king was ever so confused when he got a note about the fortified strength of various forts perfumed like some courtly love letter. I can't decide whether she's being foolish or if she just has a twisted sense of humour."

Daine winced and didn't answer, knowing that whatever opinion she had wouldn't be particularly ladylike. She unfolded the letter carefully, frowning when a second sliver of parchment fell out and dropped onto the seat beside her.

 _Daine,_ she read to herself,  
 _  
I hope that the Lady Hazelle decided to pass this letter on to you. We parted in anger, and I understand if you never want to hear from me again. Whatever you said at the time, I don't believe you wanted me to come with you to Tortall any more than I wanted to leave. I am grateful that you offered, but please try to understand that I meant no insult when I refused. Galla is my home, and I have to fight for it just as much as you had to fight for your freedom._

_That is why I am writing to you. I am trying to rebuild the ruins of my home into something that will one day be good. It is hard to erase the traces of what my father did here, and it will take a long time. Every day we find something else that needs to be fixed, and every day I have a hundred more things to do. The people have accepted me as a leader, but I am watched carefully. I will never shake off the shadow of being his daughter, nor for being wilfully blind to his crimes for so many years. Hundreds of people died in his attack, and for no other reason than his want of power._

_I am trying to make amends, and I think it will keep me here for the rest of my life. Your friend Rowan helps me, and is one of the few people that I wholly trust, but even with his help it is slow work, and very difficult._

_Daine, I am asking for your help. I know I can trust you beyond most of the people here, and I know that the valley will never leave your thoughts. I am not asking you to return. I said you should stay away, and even though I was angry when I said it I still believe that. Live your life in Tortall as a free woman, and with my blessing and apology for my part in the pain that your freedom cost you.  
But there is something that needs to be done in Tortall, and I cannot think of another person more suited to doing it. _

_When the castle was razed the soldiers opened every door, and unbarred every cage. They believed all the slaves were like you, imprisoned there in innocence on my father's command. That is not true. Even before my father was involved the keep was a prison, and at first it was kept most seriously: as a place to carefully keep dangerous mages away from people that they might hurt. We are still counting the dead, but we know that many of these mages have escaped. They are in Tortall, or have fled deeper into Galla._

_I cannot cross the border: I am named a criminal by your king, and perhaps rightly so. I must stay here and rebuild. There is no-one here who I can send to find these people. But I know that you can find them. You can recognise them, as the people you lived among for so many years. You can reason with them, or point them out to the Tortallan soldiers, before they can hurt innocent people. You do not have to fight them, but someone needs to be able to look into a crowd and see the faces hiding there in plain sight._

_I know this is a selfish thing I am asking you to do, and you probably would like nothing better than a simple life without any more fighting. If you wish to tear up this letter or throw it in the fire then I understand. But you know more than anyone what these people are thinking, what they're feeling, and what they might do. I'm asking you, please, to consider this most seriously. I will pay you well, but I know that means nothing to you. Instead I should say that you know far more than I do that no innocent person deserves to suffer for another man's pleasure._

_I have heard what happened to Leto – I mean, Numair - and I am very sorry. I think even then I loved his pretence more than his self, but even if I dislike him now I don't think anyone deserves a life of emptiness._

_Perhaps I should apologise for coming between you two, but I do not deceive myself for a single second that I ever had a chance of making him love me. All he ever saw was you._

_Rowan sends his best wishes to you, and tells you that his family are safe and happy. He asks me to order you to rest as much as possible. He says you will ignore him, but I hope this time you will listen! Remember that we wish you well, and whatever you decide to do, we will always be your friends._

_\- Karenna  
_  
Daine folded the letter up slowly and picked up the slip of paper. It was addressed to King Jonathan of Tortall, and formally asked that he give Daine the authority to pursue Gallan escapees on Tortallan soil. She shivered and folded the scrap, not sure what to do. Wordlessly, she handed the letters to Hazelle and then lay back, covering her face with her hand and wishing her thoughts weren't quite as foggy as they were.

There was the sound of paper being folded, and Hazelle cleared her throat politely. "Well," she said, and then couldn't think of anything else to say. Daine shrugged, not opening her eyes.

"I don't know." She said honestly. "I can't think properly at the moment. It's too hot, and I'm too... too..." she scowled and pushed herself upright, feeling suddenly furious. "No. I won't do it. Never! How can she ask me to do this? Putting people _back_ in that prison? I... I want to forget any of this ever happened!"

"But it did happen." Hazelle said softly. "You're living with all the consequences of it, good and bad. If it hadn't happened you wouldn't have met me, or Alanna, or Numair."

Daine glared at her. "You keep him out of it. He wouldn't want me to do it."

"Why should I? You can't pretend to know everything he would think just because you're in love with the man. You didn't even know he gave up his magic to protect your baby until this morning."

"I know him better than you do." The girl went white with anger, and the old woman shrugged, deliberately callous.

"Well, then you'll agree that he'd want you to talk to him about this when he's awake, and not just make a decision now when you're hot and tired and angry."

Daine stared at her, feeling furious and deeply ashamed at the same time. Without answering, mainly because she couldn't think of any sensible words, she hauled herself to her feet and left. By the time she got back to her rooms she was out of breath from walking too quickly, and dull aching pains were darting up her back. She caught her breath, going to lie down on the bed next to Numair's still body and wrapping her fingers around his icy hand.

 _I do know what he'd say._ She thought obstinately, and pushed down the sick thought that she was forgetting who he was, and what he would have said. 

She cuddled closer to the man, stroking his pale cheek with her free hand and trying not to sob at the placid emptiness on his face. If she shut her eyes she could almost pretend that he was just asleep. She could almost believe that he would wake up.

"Come back to me, my love," she whispered. "Please, please..."

Tucking her head into his shoulder, she breathed in the comforting warm, living scent of him, and slowly drifted off into an uneasy sleep.


	67. Mercy without Reprieve 3

Daine woke up, gasping and trying to flinch away from the sharp pain that stabbed across her stomach.

"No, no...!" she whimpered, raising her hands in the darkness to fight off whoever was attacking her. "No, please...!"

She opened her eyes, straining to see in the darkness, and groaned as the pain deepened into a spreading ache. Sitting up, she wrapped her hands around her stomach and gritted her teeth, riding out the pain, and realised that the skirt of her shift was soaked.

"Oh gods..." she whispered. She hadn't expected it to be so soon. She didn't think the others would have, either. Even through the wash of pain her foremost thought was for Numair, and she caught his icy hand up between her own. "I didn't have time to tell you..."

The contraction settled in the middle of her back, and she caught her breath, trying not to feel as alone as she did. For a moment, as the pain slowly ebbed away she rested her forehead against Numair's. 

"I'm scared," she whispered, pretending that he could hear her, and then she kissed him tearfully. "Be brave for us both, my love."

Struggling to her feet, she stumbled through the dark room and managed to find the main door. The pain had nearly ebbed away but she was shaking too much to unfasten the bolts. She forced herself to calm down enough to draw the lock back and turn the handle. Clinging to the heavy wood door, she looked out into the torch-lit corridor. It was deserted. 

Daine picked a direction at random and struggled onwards for a few minutes, searching for anyone who could help. She nearly sobbed aloud when she finally saw one of the pages who was still on duty. His eyes were sinking sleepily shut, but they flew open when the girl grabbed his arm.

"Help me," she pleaded, "Please, you have to..."

"Milady?" He looked her up and down and blanched. With the presence of mind of most adolescents, he panicked and fluttered his hands wildly in the air. "Ma'am, you're...! I'll get a healer. I'll get one of the ladies, uhm...!"

"No!" Daine stopped him impatiently, feeling sick as the ominous dull ache of another contraction started crossing her stomach. "Get the king!"

"The king?" He touched her forehead. "Do you have a fever, ma'am? He blesses babies after they're born, not when they're... I'll get you a lady, ma'am. And some hot water. Women need hot water, don't they? I... I heard that... somewhere."

"Get the king. And... and then the Lioness. Both of them." She said through gritted teeth, and then shuddered and clutched at the wall in pain. He stared at her, still trying to refuse, and she summoned up all the pain into one screamed word. "Now!"

The boy gulped and fled, nodding wildly even when he was almost out of sight. Daine sagged against the wall, breathing rapidly until the pain passed. She stayed there, pressing her face against the cool stone and willing herself to calm down. Panicking wouldn't help. She thought that she should go back to Numair and explain things to him, not stay here in the empty hallway. But she couldn't make herself move. Now that she really needed him she finally felt like Numair had gone forever. The thought of being on her own terrified her, but even if she went back and spoke to his shell, so what?

He couldn't hear her. He couldn't comfort her. She had been pretending to know his thoughts for weeks, but now all of that just seemed like the foolish daydreams of a besotted child. Daine felt so utterly alone that she couldn't move, and she sank her fingertips into the gaps between the stones in the wall and tried not to cry.

A bead of silvery light glimmered across her hand for a second, and she stared at it numbly. The daydreaming Daine would have wondered if it was a sign, she thought, but it's probably just a stray ember from the torches. Still, she stared at it as it drifted across her skin, breathing evenly, and feeling a little calmer.

"Daine," the voice was soft, and she looked up hazily at the speaker. It was a woman she didn't recognise, so beautiful that even with sleepy eyes, tousled hair and a wrinkled nightshirt she was captivating. The woman's red lips curved in a smile, and she gently laid a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Daine, I'm Thayet. I've come to help. The page has gone to find Alanna but she's…well, she's Alanna. So it might take a while, and I thought you'd want someone here."

"I'm here." Another tired voice said tartly. Thayet smiled and her eyes flashed with wry humour as she glanced around.

"I meant a _woman,_ dear. She needs someone who'll be thinking about sensible things, instead of just magical sparkly things."

"I don't just…" the other voice broke off to yawn, and Daine looked up to see the king looked just as unkempt as the beautiful woman. His dark hair was standing up in wild tufts. He waved a hand in greeting to Daine even as he smothered another yawn. "I planned to introduce you two later today, but…"

"You're the queen." Daine figured out in a hoarse whisper, and then choked back a laugh as another pain started darting across her back. Thayet squeezed her shoulder comfortingly until it passed, and then asked when the pains had started. Nodding at Daine's answer, she looked up at her husband.

"Jon, can you leave us alone for a moment? Perhaps go and find that midwife?"

"What about the magic?" Daine asked, grabbing desperately at the queen's hands even as the king nodded and left. "He has to do it now, or…!"

"You have a long while yet, Daine." Thayet said reassuringly. Her voice was musical and soothing, and she stroked Daine's hair back from her forehead. "Calm down. Jon can't do anything until Alanna gets here anyway, not with Numair's magic being as strong as it is. We need to take care of you first."

"But…" Daine started, and the queen's eyes narrowed.

"If you argue with me again I'll get angry." She spoke like a queen, as if her word was her command, but then her voice softened. "Jon may seem a little… vague, I know. But you have to trust him, Daine. He knows exactly what he's doing. And you can trust me, as well. Honestly, you have hours to go yet. Your contractions are still a long way apart, right? So take a deep breath and let us take care of everything. Have you eaten breakfast?"

Daine blinked, and her voice sounded sheepish even to her own ears as she answered the unexpected question. "No? It's early."

"Isn't it!" Thayet rolled her eyes at the dark sky outside the windows, and then laughed. "Well, that's a good place to start, isn't it?" She beckoned someone over, and Daine blearily realised that an entourage of curious looking servants had followed the monarchs from their room. Thayet told one of them to bring food, another to defend the first from the wrath of the grumpy cook, and the last one to fetch water and clean cloths. When they had all darted away she smiled and yawned, suddenly more relaxed. Looping an arm companionably around Daine's shoulders, she walked the girl back into her room.

Daine hesitated on the threshold, wondering what she should do. She was so used to keeping people away from Numair that welcoming another person into the room made her feel cold. But the beautiful woman smiled encouragingly and stepped into the room without staring at Numair, as most other people had. Instead, she lightly touched the man's hand in greeting.

"It's been a long time, Numair," she said softly, and there was no doubt in her voice that the man could hear her. Daine hugged her arms around herself, feeling oddly comforted by the woman's behaviour. Some cynical part of her mind wondered how much of it had been trained into her, like the ladylike behaviour Hazelle had taught to Daine, but Thayet seemed genuinely sincere in everything that she did.

"He talked about you," Daine blurted out suddenly, and waved a hand awkwardly when Thayet looked around. "He talked about everyone here. About how much he wanted to see you all again. He used to tell me stories…" she stopped, paling at her use of the past tense, and sat down at the table with a thud. 

"He likes telling stories." She corrected herself, trying not to sound defensive.

"When he wakes up, we'll find out how many of them were true." Thayet acted like she hadn't noticed the slip, and when she made her joke she winked. Daine smiled shakily and the queen nodded. "There, that's better." She grinned when the servants came back into the room with great trays filled with food, and laughed at the steaming plates. "The poor cooks get a royal order and panic, I swear! Well, it's rather rude of us, but I think we can ignore our friend over there for now. Now, Daine, I want you to eat, not just pick at your food, and… and tell me something that makes you feel happy."

Daine didn't think she'd ever had such a strange meal in her life. The queen invited the servants to eat with them, and they swapped silly stories while they ate a bizarre mixture of kippers, porridge, bacon, toast and even beautiful small cakes which Thayet wryly pointed out were supposed to be for the courtiers to eat at a ball that night, "But we'll probably cancel that, Jon will be tired and I'm not spending hours with boring old men staring at me without having someone to pull faces at," she muttered, taking a delicate bite from a cake with yellow icing.

The servants dug in with wide grins on their faces, teasing each other and bickering over the larger pieces of bacon. Daine first tried to shrink away shyly into her seat, but after a few minutes of Thayet's odd questions and strange jokes she found herself relaxing enough that even when she had to catch her breath at the dull pain of her contractions, the sharp aching didn't seem so horrible any more. After a while she realised, with a wry lack of surprise, that distracting her had probably been the queen's plan all along.

"You'd be surprised what a tea party can do." Thayet murmured, seeing the girl's look of realisation and reading it correctly. "I had a strange education, you see, but some of it is surprisingly good for emergencies."

"I'll have a story to tell Numair, this time." Daine replied, and laughed shortly. "I thought he was exaggerating about you."

"Numair? Exaggerate? Never." The voice came from near the door, and Thayet nodded a greeting to Alanna as she surveyed the scene. "Thayet, one day you'll have to tell me the secret of how on earth you can produce a banquet out of thin air. George will think I've finally learned how to run a household."

Daine smiled as the rest of them laughed, but she looked down at her hands in her lap and felt them unconsciously constricting. If Alanna noticed her nervousness she didn't comment on it, but she leant against the back of the girl's chair and ruffled her hair in brusque affection as she reached past her to take a cake. "Good morning, Daine. You have shocking timing."

"It's not like you were sleeping. You were doing drills off gods-know-where." Thayet's voice was tart, and Alanna shrugged.

"You should kick your husband out of bed earlier so we can spar." She commented through a mouthful of cake. "His mid-section blocks are pathetic."  
"I have a champion so I don't have to fight." Jonathan said from the doorway. He was holding the door open gallantly for the midwife, who was looking at the general chaos with an expression of horror. Alanna opened her mouth to make a retort, and then shrugged and finished off the rest of her cake.

"Well then," she mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. "Shall we get started?"

Daine started laughing hysterically. She couldn't help it, even when all of the others turned to look at her in confusion. She shook her head and gulped back her giggles, finally managing to say, "I'm sorry! It's like you're going to a… a picnic, or something! Aren't you taking this seriously?"

"Extremely," Jon said, helping the midwife carry her bag across the room. "But we don't want you to…" He stopped and shook his head at Thayet's warning look, and shrugged with a charming half-smile. "Well, never mind."

"Never mind what?" Daine asked, and then demanded, suddenly suspicious, "What shouldn't I do?"

Alanna rolled her eyes and clouted the king across the back of the head, obviously irritated with him. "Nice going, Jon." She muttered.

"Daine, you just need to concentrate on having the baby." Thayet said in what was probably meant to be a soothing voice. "Everything else – everything else – should be left to Jon and Alanna. You're… well, no matter what happens, you can't try to help them."

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a baby.” Daine said through gritted teeth. 

"We're working with your magic and Numair's bound up together, and his magic might well attack us. He told me that in Galla. We'll have to defend ourselves." Alanna said bluntly. "If you get in the middle of that you'll both get hurt. Maybe even killed."

"But…" Daine started, and then doubled over as a particularly sharp contraction bit into her stomach. 

_But he said that about the Hawk, and the hawk has gone!_ She thought, trying to catch her breath so she could explain. _Numair said those things because he knew the Hawk would attack them, but he would never… _

"It's alright, Daine," Thayet was saying in a soft voice, one hand on the girl's shoulder, "They know what they're doing."

Daine looked up, trying to push back her rising feeling of unease. Who was she to argue with some of the most powerful mages in the world? She nodded mutely and leaned back into her chair, pushing her plate away with a sudden loss of appetite. The midwife pushed a glass of water back, and she stared at it for a moment.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jon and Alanna moving to sit in tailor seats on the bed, one on either side of Numair. Alanna was carelessly resting her booted feet over the unconscious man's legs. Almost in unison they closed their eyes and began breathing steadily, matching each other's rhythm for a few minutes.

Jon's blue eyes flashed open, his pupils dilated as he stared from Numair to Daine. His voice sounded as if it were coming from a long way away as he whispered to Thayet: "I've never seen anything like… we're going to start untying it now. Don't let them touch, Thayet. They're linked… who knows what will happen…" and then, like a sleepwalker, his eyes slid shut again and he was still.

The girl shivered, and then cried out and clutched at her stomach as sharper pains started tearing into her. The midwife pressed a hand to her stomach and pursed her lips, glaring up at the mages and then meeting Thayet's eyes.

"Your majesty," She said sharply, "I don't know what they're doing, but…"

Daine gasped and grabbed at the woman's hand, writhing in agony as the pain deepened into a sensation of being pulled, as if every cell in her body was being dragged out of her by force. "No, no…" she whimpered, wanting the woman to stop interfering. "They're… helping him…"

"Your majesty?" The midwife demanded, "If she…"

Daine stiffened in the woman's hold and screamed, and for a moment her skin glowed with a sickening mixture of whirling black and bronze magic. The colours bled in and out of each other like oils, stretching and warping with every harsh breath the girl took. Thayet whitened and looked around at her husband, whose forehead was strained with effort despite his placid meditative poise. Alanna looked more serene, but her nails were digging in to her hands so tightly they had bitten into her palms.

"Make them stop." The midwife said, and there was a note of panic in her voice as she tried to calm Daine down. "This shouldn't be happening."

"N…no!" Daine opened tear-rimmed eyes and glared at her, "It's the... only… way…" 

The pain started ebbing away, like a more vicious version of her other contractions, and she tried frantically to catch her breath and uncurl her clawlike fingers from the woman's hand. She had left red marks, she saw in an oddly detached way, and she was wondering whether or not to apologise when a sound made her blood run cold.

Just as she had, Numair was seized in agony, hands clutching with agonised roughness at his head, his heart. A low, harsh cry came from his lips and he twisted against the bed so violently that Alanna's eyes flew open.

"Dammit," she muttered, and grabbed his hands. "Numair, stop it. Stop fighting us!"

"Numair…" Daine cried, her voice hoarse as she instinctively reached for him. Thayet grabbed her hands and held her still just as Alanna closed her eyes again, and a wash of purple light flooded from her grasping hands into the man's flailing hands. As soon as the light touched him he was still, and the pain flooded back into the girl again. She groaned and curled up, pulling her hands away from both the women to clutch at her stomach. The black swirl of sick magic crystallised for a moment across her hands, and to her horror she saw the viscous light forming the shapes of clumsy feathers. She tore at them wildly, not realising she couldn't touch the light.

"Don't… hurt the.. baby… Numair." She sobbed, "You… p…promised."

"What is she talking about?" The midwife demanded, staring at the deformed feathered magic in shock. "What's doing that?"

"I don't know, Jon didn't say anything about that…" Thayet whispered, and her eyes were huge as she stared at the girl. 

Unnoticed, summoned by the wild flares of magic, scores of the castle's stray cats had crept through the windows into the room. Some of them were pawing at Daine anxiously, while others were hissing at the drifting light in the room. One of them yowled loudly at a swooping patch of darkness, and swatted at it with outstretched claws. There was an odd rush of air, and suddenly the magic was gone and Numair was crying out again.

Daine's eyes snapped open, and she gulped in a mouthful of air. "They're hurting him," she whispered, and she fixed the man in her frantic gaze. She realised what was happening even as her lips formed a plea. "Numair, stop _fighting_ them! Stop it!"

Both Jon and Alanna were struggling now, their hands clutched around the man's writhing arms as they wrestled with the freed tendrils of his gift. Each tendril drifted free as the mages broke its connection to Daine, and the strands of magic tangled and clashed with one another with a noise like the dead roar of lightning. Daine was deaf to all of that.

All she knew were the small fragments of magic, those that were drifting free and outside of Numair's control. The ones that had claws and wings and bleeding black feathers. The longer tendrils reached out and choked as many birds as they could, but Numair's control over them wasn't strong enough. Several of the birds had already evaded the tendrils and were settling smugly over the man's heart. Every wash of magic from the other two made them clearer, darker, stronger.

 _They'll think it's just his gift returning._ Daine realised, seeing the way the hawk was binding itself to Numair forever. She struggled to sit up, ignoring the dull ache of a blessedly normal contraction. Her eyes filled with tears as she saw his friends lovingly casting the magic that would destroy him. She fought her way to her feet.

"Daine, don't…!" Thayet grabbed for her hands, but the girl shook them off and reached tearfully for Numair.

"Stop it, stop it!" She sobbed, trying desperately to get to him. "You're hurting him!"

Thayet grabbed at her again, but the girl wriggled free and hurled herself towards the bed. 

Behind her, almost unnoticed, the castle animals flooded around the queen and the midwife and formed a growling, hissing barrier that stopped them from moving. Daine didn't notice; she was close enough now to see that dark shadows were drifting over all of Numair's skin, like oil on water, and some of them were starting to form shapes that were horrifyingly like feathers. The man made a sound from deep in his throat that was more animal than human, a sound of desperate pain.

"It's just his gift, it's always been dark…" Thayet was saying, but Daine shook her head.

"You don't understand," she insisted, "It's trying to come back. We can't let it. There's got to be something…"

She froze, remembering Jon's warning before he'd sunk into his meditation. _Don't let them touch. Who knows what will happen…_ but as she stared at the dark shadows moving across the man's skin, she knew that Jon and Alanna wouldn't understand enough to fight off the Hawk. They would think that the dark tendrils were a normal part of his gift. They would try to save it.

"This is the last time," she said, almost to herself. The dull ache intensified across her back and then sharpened so dramatically that she cried out and fell to her knees.

"Daine," the queen's voice was cold, not pleading any more but stating a fact. "If you touch him, he _will_ die."

The girl's mind cleared, and she reached up and curled her fingers around the edge of the bed, hesitating barely an inch away from the man's hand. 

"No." she said, and her own voice was furious. "That's what he wanted... his _choice_. And that's why he's fighting them. He _wants_ to die. But I'm not going to let him."

She reached out and felt the coolness of skin under her fingers, the softness of the hairs on his wrist against her palm. She felt the soft beat of his pulse, and then she closed her fingers tightly around his hand. 

The room suddenly filled with a blinding silver light, and she heard everyone in the room cry out as they were thrown back from Numair's body, but by then even the sounds were far away. The light tore the mortal world away and then fled. 

Daine followed the path of the light to the brightness of the stars.


	68. Mercy without Reprieve 4

There was only light. 

There was no magic, and no Hawk circling around a bright, shining core. All that Daine could see, for miles in any direction, was the kind of soft sunset-gold light of hazy reflections on lazy streams. She could almost hear water trickling past, and hear the birds singing to each other in the woods.

"Perhaps I did die," She whispered, and took an experimental step forward. The ground didn't look like it could hold her weight, but it felt firm underfoot, like walking on a blanket of young grass. She took another step and then stopped, looking around at the complete lack of anything.

"I thought the Dark God's realms would be more interesting," she muttered, and then added, "And be darker, I guess."

"I can't tell you what they're like," The answering voice was soft, lilting, and Daine looked up to see a vague figure shimmering in the light. She squinted, working out the shape of a veiled woman who carried on speaking, "But… they aren't actually dark. That would be fair silly, don't you think?"

"I don't know." Daine took a step towards the woman, trying to work out why her voice was so familiar, but however many steps she took the woman seemed to stay the same distance away. She stopped and said, very carefully, "I think I'm in the wrong place, ma'am. I'm trying to help my friend, you see. He's sick."

"He’s not sick; he’s fighting off a demon. That's why I came." The goddess pushed back her veil, and for a moment her features blazed so brightly that Daine had to look away. Then the light faded. The goddess smiled, and her voice was quick and confiding when she said, "But if anyone asks, darling, I'm here to help you with the baby."

"M…" Daine could barely breathe as she looked up in frank disbelief. "Ma?" 

The goddess smiled and nodded encouragingly. Closing the gap between them with a few easy steps, she rested a tapering hand on the girl's stomach and her smile widened. "You don't need my help with this, Daine. She's healthy and happy, and you'll be fine. I'll keep an eye on you, but I promise you won't need my help. But I had to wait, you see. We can only cross the realms when there's a reason. And since they made me a goddess of childbirth…"

Daine couldn't make her whirling mind believe it. "A goddess?" 

"Yes, yes. The Green Lady, goddess of childbirth and consort of Lord Weiryn. There, that's all you need to know at the moment. Stop gaping like a goldfish, Daine. Your face will stick like that! You have to make a decision."

Daine closed her mouth automatically but she couldn't make herself stop staring. Her spinning thoughts settled on a phrase, and she blurted out, "Wha… what decision, ma?"

Sarra shrugged, and then looked around again. "Well. Your friends are right to break the link between you, but that's only half of it. When it's severed your Numair has to decide whether to follow it back to the mortal realm, or to let the Dark God take him. He's being punished, you see. He broke the rules and he's paying for it now. Mithros was especially angry. He doesn't understand love. Well, not how we would think of it. Love to him is fighting everything that opposes you, but never, ever destroying yourself."

Daine shivered and wrapped her hands around herself. She didn't like the idea of the gods being angry at Numair, any more than she could comfortably accept that her mother was a goddess. "If it's Numair's choice, then why are you telling me this?" She whispered. Sarra shook her head. Her voice grew very hesitant.

"It's your choice. Daine, you… your father is a god. You've got divine blood in your veins. The higher gods have been watching you. Divine children can disturb the balance, you see! They…we… the gods… have seen the way you've been treated. The way you've been fighting. They want to give you the choice to… to stay with us, in the Divine Realms, and be with your father and I. Or you can choose to stay in the mortal realms. Your… Numair, they say, caused too much trouble. He broke the rules. He can only be allowed to return to the mortal realms if he's watched carefully. That's the choice. If you agree to stay with him for the rest of his life, to stay linked to him and keep his magic at bay, then he can return. If not, they think he's too dangerous to risk. They'll send him to the dark realms."

"What?" Daine gasped, "But none of it was his fault…! He…"

Sarra's eyes hardened, and for a moment she looked angry. "He willingly chose to surrender to a demon. He let it possess his mind, knowing what it would do, knowing how many innocent people it would kill. He allowed an agent of chaos to have all of his magical power and all his mortal strength."

Light glowed around the goddess's body, and her voice took on the odd deep echoes of divine power as if a score of gods were speaking through her. "It doesn't matter why he decided to do it. The only reason we kept him alive was because, in the end, he destroyed himself to kill the demon. He tried to make it right. But we find it harder to forgive than mortals, because we know more what is at stake. Two people don't matter; the divine war is everything."

Daine blanched. "You're scaring me, ma." She whispered. Sarra blinked, and looked down at her shimmering hands as if they were alien to her. For a moment she shuddered, and then the light faded a little and the pressure in the air seemed to ease.

"You have to choose." The goddess said shortly, not apologising. Daine took a step back and then asked, her voice slow.

"Ma, if you were…were watching me all this time, then why didn't you help me years ago? Why did you just leave me there? Was I being punished, too?"

"I'm helping you now." She said, and for the first time Daine heard guilt and uncertainty in the goddess's voice. She took another step away, and her voice was hostile.

"You could have done something. _Anything._ I thought I was _mad,_ mama. I thought they were _right_ to do what they did. You're telling me I'm a… the child of a _god,_ and there was still nothing you could do?"

Her mother didn't answer, and Daine found her silence infuriating. She finished her bitter thought in a low hiss, "Oh, I see. It's because two people don't matter. Is that right, Ma? I didn't matter to you then and I don't matter to you now. And neither does Numair. Is that it?"

Sarra whitened, and opened her mouth to say something before looking upwards and snapping it closed again. It was as if someone had ordered her to be silent. Daine was too furious to curb her words, but she was aware that the other gods must be listening, and raised her voice to shout to them.

"My decision is easy. He may not matter to you, but he means everything to me. I don't want you to take him. And I don't want to go with you and be a goddess who… who only cares about things that are so big that everything important just gets ignored. That's horrible. You can't have him, and you can't have me." 

There was a crash of light, and for a moment Sarra's face was almost human again. She looked up at the growling sky, and the furious divine mask seemed to crumble away. A watery smile wavered across her face and she reached out to touch Daine's cheek.

"I'm glad." She whispered. "You could have been more tactful, baby girl, but I wish you all the happiness in the world."

"I'm sorry, ma." Daine felt suddenly small and guilty. "I didn't mean you're…"

"It's alright. At the solstice I can ask your father to…" The goddess looked up, frowning, and then her eyes narrowed when the sky started to tear apart in black scorch-marks. "What's this?"

Daine took a step back and stared up at the scorch marks, which grew and started reaching down like savage briar thorns, bristling into feathers when they got closer to the two women. "It's Numair." She said, her voice suddenly wary.

"But…" Sarra blinked, and then looked furious. "Mithros! Damn it, you said you agreed!" She shut her eyes for a moment, listening intently, and then they flew open and she glared around at something Daine couldn't see. "She made her choice, you insufferable, meat-headed…"

"Get out of the way, Ma." Daine spread her hands wide, still looking upwards at the tendrils. Sarra glared at her daughter.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, young woman! I am your mothe… I am a _goddess!"_

"Yes, and you're in the way." The girl's mouth quirked in a wry smile. "Is that shiny magic good for anything except glowing, ma?"

"Babies," the goddess admitted. She looked up and shuddered. "It won't work against that thing. And I can't interfere in mortal battles. The rules here are fair unkind, sometimes. But I don't think that you should…"

"Well, if you could keep my baby safe for me while I do this, I'll burn you some incense or something." Daine shot her a grin, and then looked up with complete focus at the sharp feathers. "Numair!" she shouted, "I'm here!"

The vines twisted and shrieked, a noise like the creaking death of an ancient oak ripped from its roots in a storm. The girl gasped and clapped her hands over her ears, feeling warmth where the sharp noise had made them start bleeding. She shook her head dizzily and glared up, calling on her magic. The nucleus of the thorns rumbled and shook the soft sky, noxious with oily colours and jagged shapes. She caught sight of movement, a tiny writhing life in the grotesque mass of looming death, and braced herself.

"Did you miss the part where I said I'm a _goddess?"_ Sarra demanded. "That means you should listen to me! Daine, that is _chaos_ swirling around up there, and if Mithros isn't going to help…"

The life in the storm screamed and leapt towards them, wings bursting forth from its formless, emaciated shape. It reached out and suddenly had fingers, then claws, then great talons which warped into knife-like sharpness. It shrieked in a horribly familiar tone and dropped like a stone towards the two women.

"It's not just chaos." Daine set her chin stubbornly, "It's Numair, and he needs my help. I'm not afraid. I love him. I really do. And besides, I made my choice. I promised, didn't I?"

The figure cackled loudly and drew itself up. It hovered a few metres above them, laughing, the noise coming from its featureless face. Daine wondered why it hadn't attacked, and then saw the dark vines which burst from the end of every finger, the edge of every feather on its wings, from its stomach and from its legs and from its heart. They grew sinuously, the thorns melting into needle points and then bursting into knife edges.

"Daiiiiiine…" the creature gurgled a laugh as it reached out towards her.

"I'm not afraid of you." She whispered, and ducked under the first vine just as it slashed at her. The second caught her across the cheek, scoring a line of blood before she rolled away. By the time the creature flailed at her a third time she had regained her balance, and jumped. Bronze sparrow-like wings burst from her shoulders and she sped towards it, weaving around the vines until she was close enough to reach out, to strike, to attack…

She reached out her hand and wrapped it around the creature's wrist, shuddering. The creature's flesh felt slimy and icy cold against her skin. As soon as she touched its arm the creature keened and hurled itself sharply backwards. It was as if it were afraid to touch her. The vines that whipped around her hissed and dissolved into smoke. Daine bit her lip, flying closer to the creature, but with every beat of her wings it faded away, its shadow-like shape drifting aimlessly, unconsciously, as if there was a breeze in the breathless land.

"Mama?" She asked uncertainly, still tensed for an attack that never came. She looked back, and saw that the goddess looked just as confused as she did. She looked back at the creature and had to look away in quick shock. Instead of a monster there was a light, almost blinding after the darkness.

"Well fought! Now I believe you will keep your word, Weiryn's daughter. You can go home now." The voice was deep, male, and held a note of approval.

Daine blinked and shielded her eyes, but she couldn't make out the form of the speaker. She chewed the inside of her lip in confusion, and then tentatively asked, "Lord Mithros?"

There was no answer. The light grew brighter, and brighter, and Daine felt her wings crumble away as if they were burned by that pure, white beauty. She gasped as she fell to earth, but the soft warm ground opened up to let her pass, and when she tore her eyes open she was back in her own body, back in Corus, and the icy hand she was clinging to was suddenly warm in her grasp.


	69. Mercy without Reprieve 5

"Numair, you're awake!"

"Jon?" The mage blinked blearily at the king, and said the first thing in his mind. "Where are your clothes?"

"Daine woke us up early." Jon explained, and was about to add something else when Numair sat bolt upright and grabbed at the other man's nightshirt sleeve.

"Daine's here? She's alright?" He demanded, and then pressed long fingers to his head as a wave of dizziness punished him for moving too quickly. Through his confusion he could hear her voice, wonderfully familiar, wonderfully close.

"I'm fine, Numair." She laughed, almost hysterically. "You're awa…!" the word was cut off as she suddenly cried out. Numair wrenched his eyes open and saw that she was huddled on the floor against the bed. Her eyes were tightly shut and her hands were wrapped around her stomach in pain. Some part of his confusion cleared, only to be replaced by absolute disbelief.

"Daine, are you having the baby now?" He asked, his voice childishly baffled. Another person laughed.

"No, she always welcomes people back to the mortal realm by screaming at them." Alanna said tartly, and made eye contact with Jon for a second before carefully wrapping her arm around the girl's back and helping her to stand up. "Jon, she should be on the bed."

"Well, it won't matter if they touch now." Jon shrugged and dusted off his hands, his happiness at the spell working slightly marred when he glanced at the girl. "Not that Daine would listen to us even if it did matter."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, struggling to get her breath back. "But you were... I had to…"

"You're cussed lucky to be alive." The king snapped, and then sighed when Thayet put her hand on his shoulder with a warning expression. Relaxing a little, he shrugged and rolled his head as if his neck ached. "It worked, I suppose. I don't know how it worked. I don't know what you did. But I don't know how you linked yourselves together in the first place, either."

"So you won't be able to explain what happened? The small things, I mean… like how I'm alive?!" Numair demanded, and then looked up. His eyes softened, and even through his confused frustration he found himself smiling irresistibly before he spoke, "Daine? I know you know."

"You left me," she said, almost hysterical as she looked at him – alive, awake, wonderfully angry – and felt such love and happiness that it came out as sharp, accusing words. "You left me. You left me all alone. How could you do that?"

"Okay, that's enough shouting. You need to sit down." Thayet said, gently taking her other arm. Daine blinked at her, stunned into idiocy, and the queen smiled gently as they helped her to the bed. "You've fought with magic and with the king of Tortall already today, Daine, not to mention sending every blasted cat in the castle to hiss at me… and it's not even lunch time. If you're going to pick another fight I'd wait until tomorrow."

"And be ready to explain all of this," Alanna added, her voice impatient. "What was that odd light? We gave the magic back and suddenly there were thorns everywhere! And feathers! They shoved us right out of Numair's mind and I don't think they were even trying. How did you know the right magic to fight them off?"

"I don't understand any of this. What magic? When did we suddenly get to Corus? And…" Numair's voice took on a suspicious note. "Wait, how long was I asleep?"

"A month," Alanna and Jon echoed each other, and shot one another a tired glance. Numair gaped at them.

"A month? I thought… a week at the most! A month? When I used my magic before, I only…"

"You didn't use your magic." Daine interrupted, "You _died._ On _purpose."_ She looked at him, at the hopeless bewilderment on his face, and in a heartbeat all of her anger at him faded away. She started laughing wildly, covering her face with her hands so that no-one could see the hot tears that spilled down her cheeks. "You _died!"_ she sobbed, and started laughing again when she felt warm hands gently stroking her hair, drawing her closer so she could cry against his chest.

"You wouldn't wake up without getting your magic back… and you'd given it all to Daine and the baby. So we… we broke your magic away." Jon said quietly, explaining as simply as he could. "But we had to wait until Daine…"

"Oh." Numair understood the train of thought quicker than Jon could explain it, and looked shamefacedly down at the girl he held in his arms. Daine curled up against Numair, her breath hitching in pained gasps, and when he took her hand she looked up, her eyes stained with tears. 

"I hate you so much!" She gasped, kissing him and squeezing his hand painfully in equal measure. He flushed and stroked her cheek.

"I'm so sorry I messed up the magic," he started, and she shook her head wildly, laughing.

"Not the magic, you dolt!" She cried out and clutched at her stomach, then glared at him balefully. _"You_ are having the next baby! This hurts!"

"Ignore her. They all say things like that." They had all forgotten the midwife was there, and looked around in some surprise. The woman seemed unflappable now that all the magic was finished, and was calmly sorting through her bag. Numair didn't answer, keeping his attention focused on Daine. Even though he'd been asleep for weeks he found that he was already shaking from weariness. The girl's contraction passed, and he held her with loving tenderness as she fought to catch her breath.

"I'll have to get my strength back first." He said gently, smoothing a coil of her hair behind her ear. "But there might be a spell that could let me do that."

"Don't tease her," Thayet said sternly. Daine shook her head.

"He's not teasing. He's wondering if there really is a spell." She said sourly, and then laughed and raised Numair's hand to kiss it. "Oh, I missed you so much!"

"Are you sure you didn't just want someone's hand to crush?" He grinned at her expression and shook out his aching fingers. "If you hadn't given me my magic back I think you'd've turned my poor bones into splinters, magelet."

"Okay, now you're teasing me." She pointed out. "The queen will tell you off, and then you'll be sorry. You'll be sad you ever woke up."

"Not at all. Never. I think I'll be happy for the rest of my life." He kissed her warmly, unable to stop smiling. "I don't know how you did it, Daine, but..."

"Alanna did it. And Jon." She said, "Maybe you should kiss _them."_

Numair raised an eyebrow at her, then at the king. "Jon?"

"I'll pass, if it's all the same." The other man said. He clapped Alanna on the shoulder and nodded towards the door, the motion drained and heavy. "I think we should leave, my dear Lioness, before that ecstatic idiot gets any more bright ideas." He crossed the room and gripped Numair's shoulder for a moment. "It is wonderful to see you again, Numair. I hope to talk soon." He turned to Daine and kissed her cheek. "And you too, Daine. Good luck."

"Thank you," she whispered, "For everything. I am sorry, honestly I am."

He nodded his head in easy acceptance of her tearful words. Thayet kissed her cheek too, forgiving her just as easily, and followed her husband from the room.

Alanna took her leave rather less gracefully, cuffing Numair' shoulder with a gruff, "S'good you're awake." For all the happiness in her violet eyes, it was clear that she was still angry at the mage. Numair frowned as he watched her go, looking down at his hands for a moment and tracing the space where the feather mark had once tattooed his skin.

"I did apologise to her, like you said," Daine offered when the door shut. She looked at her hands too, trying not to dwell on that conversation. For the first few days after she'd rejoined the Tortallans she hadn't dared to meet the Lioness's eyes. She barely knew what she would say. Most days she still wanted to scream at the knight for leaving her as a prisoner. It had been very difficult to explain everything that had happened and Daine didn't bother softening her accusations, but coldly recited every way that Alanna could have stopped things from becoming so hopeless. At every twist in the story the knight had stormed away from the tent in a blind rage. Daine would hear her yelling at her poor soldiers in a voice half full of outrage, half full of something that was almost guilt.

Alanna had calmed down since they had reached the city, but she'd seemed to take Numair's coma as a personal insult. Daine tried to explain that to the man. "Alanna has... well, she… she's been trying to wake you up for weeks. She said it was to get a proper apology, but she really does care. She's just angry, that's all."

"It's alright." He said peacefully. He lowered his hand and caught hers. "I wasn't expecting her to forgive me that easily. Dying might have done it, but you seem to have stopped that."

"It really wasn't me." She glanced at him, wondering if he was accusing her of anything. He looked more tired than anything, but when he caught up her hand she had to make sure. She blurted out, "I didn't use any magic, I swear. I promised you I wouldn't."

She explained what had happened, or at least she tried. She had to stop every few sentences to catch her breath, gritting her teeth against her contractions and clinging to his hand so tightly that she was surprised he let her hold on to it. When she could speak she couldn't tell the story, either. Instead, she found herself trying to answer all the many questions he interrupted her with until she finally grew impatient and pressed her lips together, refusing to continue.

He opened his mouth to ask another question and she snapped, "Look, if you keep asking me questions I'm fair sure I'll never get to the end, and it's difficult enough to think at the moment as it is, you know."  
He blushed and looked away, curbing his curiosity with a shamefaced look. "I'm sorry. I thought it might distract you."

"No you didn't, you insufferable liar. You just wanted answers!" She smiled at his expression and kissed his cheek. "I understand. I'd want to know, too. It must be odd, losing a month all in one go."

"I'm not entirely sure I'm actually awake." He said. "I dreamed about you. I dreamed you were talking to me."

She blushed. "I was. I didn't know if you could hear me." She gasped in a breath and writhed away from him for a moment, coming out of her pain slowly to find a warm hand gently holding her face. She kept her eyes shut for a moment, trying to think of that touch and nothing more. He spoke gently so the midwife couldn't hear.

"I heard you. You said you were scared." He said, stroking her cheek. "You're doing fine, sweetling. Really you are. If you want me to stop asking questions and just be here for you then that's fine. I'm not going anywhere. I mean, you brought me back from the dead, so even if I wanted to leave I don't think I'd get very far before you found some way to bring me back!"

"She's not going to be fetching you from anywhere, Master Salmalin. There'll be no more magic in this room, thank you kindly! But it would be best if you did leave. You shouldn't really be here." The midwife's words held a vein of iron, as if someone had filled the woman's soft voice with starch and let it dry hard and emotionless. Both Daine and Numair looked up, seeing the midwife's stony expression and realising that she was used to being obeyed.

"I'm not going to leave." Numair said, and when that didn't make the woman's stony expression change he tried to offset his harsh words with a feeble joke, "My legs are too wobbly."

"I want him to stay," Daine whispered. Her eyes were widening in something close to panic. She didn't want to be alone, but more than that, she felt like if she let Numair leave the room he might vanish away forever. She unconsciously tightened her grip on his hand, and her voice was stubborn when she said, "I don't want him to leave me."

The midwife frowned, uncomfortable at raising a delicate matter in front of a man in a realm that she thought should be populated only by women. She might have realised Daine would be trouble, though, and she sighed at the thought. The strange little creature had been a thorn in the woman's side since she'd arrived. The king had ordered that she receive only the best attention. The midwife was used to looking after duchesses and ladies, not waif-like strays. It wasn't in her to be harsh with any woman who was in pain, but she couldn't stop her voice from sounding a little clipped. 

"It's not proper, dear. He's not your husband."

"He will be." Daine retorted, clinging more tightly to Numair's hand and feeling him start with surprise. She laughed suddenly and met his stunned eyes. "Well, that's alright with you, isn't it?"

He laughed hoarsely. "Yes, yes... _gods_ yes, a thousand times over." He shook his head in frank disbelief and kissed her fiercely. "You're not convincing me that I'm not still dreaming, beautiful."

"If you think I look beautiful right now then maybe you are." She muttered, but couldn't keep her eyes from shining. She looked up at the midwife and her eyes held a challenge. "So, he's staying."

The woman threw up her hands in an expression of wry defeat and ducked out of the room for a moment, muttering to herself. Numair bit back a laugh at her retreating form, and murmured, "Another enemy vanquished, magelet?"

"She'll be back." Daine muttered. She winced and doubled over her stomach, gritting her teeth until the pain passed. "It won't be long now, thank the gods, so… she'll be back." She struggled into a more upright posture so she could cuddle up against the man's shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, each trying to get used to being together again. If it wasn't for the regular, ominously-quickening pains in her stomach she would have felt peaceful, loved, held safely close and seeing the afternoon sun slowly moving across the window. Still, the pain brought her back, and even though it made her cry out and twist against her own body, she realised that he still didn't want to escape into the sky. She blinked at the window, at the distant forest she had stared out at every morning she had been in Corus, and knew that she would never need to daydream her mind away again.

"Numair," she asked softly in the next lull, weaving her fingers through his. He smiled down at her, and she couldn't stop herself from smiling back for a moment before she remembered what she was going to say. "Numair, there's one more thing I have to tell you. I got a letter yesterday."

"A letter?" he paused, and then very carefully said, "It has to be from Galla, then. You don't know anyone else."

"It was from Karenna," she confirmed. She understood his wariness and loved him for it, knowing what words he would form next.

"I thought you'd want to leave all that behind," he matched her guess exactly, but his next words were a little more surprising. "Did she ask you about the pit people?"

"The…?" Daine started, and caught her breath at another contraction. When it passed she'd worked out what he meant. He was talking about the slaves from the pit who had fought and turned the tide of battle against the Gallans. Most of them had fled from the battle, and it hadn't occurred to Daine that they would be some of the dangerous prisoners Karenna was asking her to hunt. The thought had come instantly to Numair, though, and she looked up at him curiously. "Why do you ask?"

"They fought for their freedom." He said, and there was a note of determination in his voice when he added, "They deserve to keep it, but I don't think they'll all know what to do with it."

"Karenna's asked me to find them." Daine said, and then laughed shortly. "But I don't know if that's what I want to do with my freedom, you see."

"Let me guess. You were going to explore the world?" He asked, and she heard the playful note in his voice before she thought to cuff him for teasing her. She couldn't resist the gibe though, and although she replied in the same whimsical tone she was quite serious.

"Well at first, yes. And then I was thinking of having more children, and a home, and getting married… can you think of anyone who might be interested in that?"

"I'm sure I know someone." He retorted, and then hesitated and said, "You'd have to be very sure he's the right person."

"Oh, I am sure. I never doubted it for a second! I'm just waiting for him to ask me properly. He'd have to be sure I was the right person, too, you see." She stopped teasing him and said, more slowly, "But if I… if I decide to help Karenna, things might not be as peaceful as all that. If I say yes I don't think my life will ever really be peaceful or… or normal. The mages are clever enough to find out who's hunting for them, and then they'll hunt for me, too. And for you, because I love you, and for… for…" she winced and pressed a hand to her stomach, and smiled weakly. "Well, if this one ever decides to actually be born rather than just torturing me…"

"I can protect you both." Numair's voice was quiet but decisive. "Whatever you decide, Daine, I can promise you that."

"But this is the rest of our lives," She persisted, "Not just a few years, it will take forever. You've met the mages. You know how clever they are, how many there are, and … and how much they want to stay free. It won't just take months. We'll be hunting, and hunted, for as long as we can draw breath. We'll never be able to forget what happened to us in Galla. We won't be able to leave it behind."

"Then say no," he said, and yawned sleepily. She looked up at him and rolled her eyes.

"You're impossible." She muttered. "Are you really letting me make this choice on my own?"

"It's yours to make. Karenna didn't ask me." He said, flatly refusing to influence her decision. Daine gaped at him.

"That's because she thought you were dead!"

"Well, she was half right." He yawned again and rested his chin against her head, relenting slightly. "Let's say, hypothetically, that you decide to hunt for the mages. How would you find them? The dangerous ones will probably give themselves away eventually, but what about the others?"

She blinked. "I hadn't thought… I guess I'd ask the birds to look first, and then when I find them I'd… well, I'd just ask them what they plan to do."

"And if they say 'go on a mad rampage'?" He asked, teasing her. She laughed and shook her head.

"Honestly, I don't think they will. I think they'll want the same things I want. Just to be themselves, and to be people, not creatures, for the first time in their lives. I think that's what they'll say. Whatever they did to get put in that prison they've paid for it by now. I want them to have a chance to… to make the world right, even if it's just their own corner of it."

"Then take the job," Numair said gently. "We can make our own corner of the world better, too. We can catch the dangerous ones and stop Karenna from finding out about any of the others."

Daine smiled, not agreeing yet, but her voice took on a rueful note. "I owe Hazelle an apology," she muttered, "I told her you'd tell me not to do it."

"I'm not telling you anything. I wouldn't dare!" He sounded a little offended, and added in a wry voice when she doubled over again, "I think even Hazelle, with her constantly scheming mind, would tell you that this is _not_ the right time to be making any decisions."

"It's the perfect time," Daine replied when the contraction passed. She turned in his embrace and stroked his cheek with simple honesty shining in her eyes. "Before we meet our beautiful baby and lose our minds entirely, we should know what we want to do with the rest of our lives."

They met each other's eyes, and for a long heartbeat they spoke with a silence that held more love than could ever be put into words. 

_The rest of our lives._

The slave and the madman who had been thrown together in a frozen cell were gone; the wolf and the hawk had been torn away. Every false name and word was erased.

All that was left were a woman and a man who looked at each other through clear, loving eyes and loved every flaw they found. In that heartbeat of soft time they knew each other's hearts far more deeply than their own. Silent and haunted memories drifted away like sun-bleached smoke, and all that truly mattered were the years that waited, patiently, before them.

"What do you want?" The man called Numair asked.

The woman called Daine smiled and kissed him. There was no need to answer. He already knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! xx


End file.
